


Memory

by TwinKats



Series: Shattered & Stuck [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: 'Gaster' Is A Nickname, Dead Yet Alive, Dementors, Dudley Dursley - Freeform, Except For Kids, Failing at Life, Falling Upwards, Fandom Fusion, Gaster Is An Idiot, Harry Is A Special Snowflake, How Much Can Shit Get Fucked Up, Kind of Sort of Reincarnation Things, Living Everything In One Second, Magic Users Are Dicks, Magical Biology, Magical Bullshit, Monster Biology, Mysterious Potter Curse, Mysterious Potter Luck, Potter Luck is Good Luck and Bad Luck and All Luck, Punning WIth Names, Racism, Secrets of the Wizarding World, Shattered Across Space and Time, Sort of Dadster, Soul Bullshit, Tags And Characters To Be Added Later, The Wizarding World Effs Shit Up, Theorizing With Colors, Theorizing With Souls, Time Bullshit, Void interference, Wizards and Witches Were Mages, sort of, time travel nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: Gaster fell apart, shattered into dust across space and time. He fell for a second, he fell for forever. A moment lived eternally, broken and yet sustained. Until it all just came to a stop.When the Potter Luck strikes, it strikes hard.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> EXCUSE ME WHILE I TUMBLE OFF INTO TRASH. I SHOULD BE DOING NANOWRIMO.

**_NO!_**  

 _Sans twisted around and dodged the blade of the knife, sweat dripped down his brow and he breathed heavily, eyes twisted up in pain, distracted, hurt—hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt—_

**_NO MORE!_ ** ****

_Sans twisted, spine cracked in a way that shot straight into his heart. Fingers twitched, blasters popped up into existence but—_

**_PLEASE NO!_ ** ****

_He may be immaterial now, everything and anything—all hate and joy and love and pain and loss and dust and breathe—but this hurt the most. Every drip and drop and fall down the endless void of nothingness and everything this scene hurt the most._

**_PLEASE STOP!_ ** ****

_Fingers clenched closed; wanted to pound to hit the windows the flashes of moments that raged within because he couldn’t escape it he couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t—_

_“C’mon, kiddo,” Sans drawled out and it scraped like knives across the skull, dug into the cracks and the broken moments._

**_STOP HURTING HIM!_ ** ****

_Nothing could be done, just watching—watching and watching while the world fell away again and again. Watching the twisted brokenness slash a knife across—watch Sans dodge. Watch death and destruction and so much dust over everything. Watch the world fade away and watch it happen all again. He wanted to scream and rage at the image of Sans—Sans, Sans, Sans beautiful wonderful perfect Sans twisted with rage and hatred and **justice** and **patience** and **integrity** into this judging mess of fury. Wanted to scream and rage and hit at the monster that took away Papyrus—beautiful wonderful full of **integrity** and **patience** and **bravery** and **hope** Papyrus, his sweetest, his youngest, his beautiful—_

**_STOP!_ ** ****

_He wanted to destroy the world, to end it to stop seeing it end to stop the madness that twisted into him. The madness that took his **perseverance** and twisted it with sick **determination** and made him into this falling specter for all time. He wanted to **stop** it and touch and scream and pound and break the barrier that stood between him and fully, truly, existing once more. He wanted to shatter the images in his mind and go back and apologize._

**_I’M SORRY! STOP! PLEASE! SANS!_ ** ****

_Nothing worked. Nothing ever worked. It came it went it passed; Sans dodged until he couldn’t dodge anymore._

_Another crack formed on the surface._

_He wanted to break._

_He wanted to die._

**_S T O P I T I T H U R T S S T O P I T P L E A S E O H S T A R S P L E A S E I M S O R R Y P L E A S E E N O U G H P L E A S E T A K E I T A W A Y P L E A S E_ ** ****

_The world shattered—_

Harry shot up with a gasp in his bed, breathing heavy and a shrill scream echoed in his mind. His limbs shook and tears trailed down his cheeks. Everything hurt like he ran a mile without a break or went without food for a week again. He trembled and scrubbed his hands through his hair and over his scar, took in a shaky breath, and doubled over until his forehead touched his knees. He took the moment to calm his heartbeat until only the phantom aches remained behind. Cautiously Harry lifted his head, perked his ears, and listened. 

When no one made a sound, Harry let himself relax. He didn’t wake anyone with a scream again thankfully; to not have the Dursley’s burst into his room right now definitely sat on Harry’s preferred list. His hands still shook as he pulled himself out of bed. He looked to the wardrobe and glanced at his own reflection therein. For a moment, he saw a tall imposing figure, shattered skull and pained gaze—memories too strong to ignore. A blink, a shaky breath later, and Harry stared at himself in full fifteen-year-old glory. 

“Just a dream,” Harry told himself softly. “J-Just a dream.” Harry slipped his legs out from under the ratty sheet and reached over to pick up the book he’d dropped when he nodded off to sleep. Nestled in the middle of the pages rested a journal, one that Hermione gave him. He stroked a hand down the spine of the book, along the embossed title, and then slipped it open to tug out the journal. Calmly he flipped the journal to a fresh, clean page. He settled against the wall of the bed, book and journal in his lap, and began to write. 

 _It happened again tonight. Another dream of the darkness and of falling down its embrace. The feeling of the pain of shattering into a million pieces, yet somehow still strung together by what? Sheer will of determination? The images were sharper this time; the memory much clearer. The void twisted into and around me, tore at me                  and at my mind. It showed me…things._

_Timelines, he called them. Stopping, starting, repeating. I can’t remember all of the details, but the last one is much sharper, much clearer. Everyone died, turned to                    dust. The only one left standing was him, and I knew he wouldn’t last. They’d been at the game too long, too many times for him to even have the chance to win. The                  anomaly itself in full control, ready to take away anything and everything then wipe the slate clean._

_Anomaly. Just a child. How could a child do all of that? What broke them to the point of such a level of violence? Could that happen to me…?_

Harry licked his lips and stared at the page, at the words. His hand clenched tight around the bone he wrote with and he glanced to the book in his lap. _Monster Moratorium_ , the history between wizards and witches and a race of magical beings they’d locked away. Harry closed his eyes. 

 _These dreams are getting to me because they aren’t just dreams. Something strange is happening. Moine’s been good about helping me with this, so’s Ron, but…I’m                  afraid. I keep having them, they keep getting clearer and worse each night. I’m seeing things when awake now—a looming shadow, a different face, and the magic I can              do it’s—_

Harry stared down at the bone in his hand. 

 _I don’t have control over it_ , he wrote.

 _That more than anything—why can I do this type of magical manifestation? Wizards and witches, we haven’t…this isn’t our magic. First the dreams, Voldemort related                  visions, and now this?_

_Moine said she’d look into it but I haven’t heard from her all summer. Or Ron. I think something’s going on, but I can’t ask them. Not through post anyway. I’m just                    lucky I keep slipping up on this weird magic thing when no one is looking. Although the being able to tell when someone is there is really creepy—that glowing soul                    thing just floating there really weirds me out sometimes. Takes all of my control not to stare._

_It has to have something do with the ‘monsters’ thing. They were experts in that type of magic, right? Ugh my head kind of hurts now actually._

_Still…bone pencil._

_I think there’s a joke I’m missing there somewhere._

Harry sighed, the ache of the nightmare finally drifted away. He slipped the journal shut and let the small piece of bone fall from his fingers. Tiredly he watched it disintegrate into faint wisps of—violet? Purple? Harry didn’t know what shade he saw whenever he did something with this strange magic without his own intention. Something purple, though. It felt like a word on the tip of his tongue, too; a p sound. 

“Purple works,” Harry sighed with a shake of his head. He slipped the book into his invisibility cloak, and then stuffed it into the floorboard under his bed. Harry glanced out the window, then over to Hedwig who snored softly as she slept. The sun would rise soon; the Dursley’s would demand he do chores soon. Harry stared at the fading night skyline, then he rolled over into bed. Maybe he could get a few extra hours of sleep.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something soulless this way comes. A memory on the edge of reality. A sickness paraded as the cure.

> _Monsters lead us to believe they were weak, merely a physical shape given to magic itself. Concepts such as a soul—the epicenter of magic, a ‘core’ as we see in ourselves—and traits provided to magic itself, limiters on what we could do with our abilities. They kept to themselves the secrets of magic, the reality of their own existence. Modern day nightmares are focused on the Dementors—soul sucking fiends spawned from the War that ended with the Monsters sealed._   
> 
> 
> _The truth of the matter ends up being far more sinister. Monsters lied to use; they limited us, and when we grew weak and complacent they stole all that mattered. Our lives, our magic, our very souls. Unlike the Dementors who could take our souls but not our magic, not our lives—Monsters took everything. They weakened the body, and then in the moments of death stole from us. What then were Monsters but abominations pretending to be beings of magic?_   
> 

Harry curled his lip at the propaganda from the passage. The idea that Monsters—that the hopeful, kindhearted beings from his nightmares—were something worse than the Dementors honestly disgusted him. Something so soulless like a Dementor couldn’t be compared to. The mere idea that Monsters even took the souls of passerby humans, dying ones let alone, made him shudder in utter disgust. A part of Harry wanted to throw up. 

Frustrated Harry snapped the book shut and slipped it away into his bag, which rested at his feet from the swing. None of the other muggles paid him any attention, although he noted when the bright _stationary_ souls began to drift off. They heralded the arrival of a pack of souls Harry grew familiar with; the leader a dark rusted orange that made Harry feel almost dizzy. The poor thing looked so damn corrupted and a part of him trembled at the sight of it. He couldn’t help but think if the thing _moved_ like the guards that popped up on the Dursley’s property— 

“Hey, Big D,” Harry pushed down his disgust to drone out in almost monotone. 

The soul in front of him fluttered; a part of it twisted around in a manner that Harry almost could have called nervous. Harry blinked, then focused. Dudley, nervous? It made him curious. He focused sharply on the soul before him and shoved the unease at the sight of it down. His gaze sharpened almost to a laser intensity. He didn’t even hear the words Dudley spoke, didn’t even follow along with the conversation. The way the soul before him twisted up into knots, and the twinge he could feel that echoed back at him. What did that twinge mean? Nervousness, fear— _guilt?_

 _He bent over almost double, a full six and a half feet of boss monster and peered at the crisp heart nestled into the center of the enlarged chest. Fear, nervousness, guilt and sorrow—not the normal response in a warm colored soul. Warm colors boasted bright, loud souls full of emotion that didn’t bother to hide itself. This soft, twittering tinge typically reserved itself for a colder human soul. And what precisely did this boy have to feel guilty over?_

_Attention drift; his friends. The **level of violence** staggered in them and then, there—nothing. A small nestling of **one** and an **execution point of** two? He felt guilty over hurting another, or a death he may have caused? Weak, the points were minimal. Probably a rodent, small and insignificant and yet—_

“STOP IT!” 

Harry jerked back. He shivered, suddenly cold. The sky darkened and Harry tilted his head upward. A storm? No, he watched his breath mist in front of his face and shivered. He knew this feeling; the bone cold, twisted set of misery. Harry’s eyes snapped open wide and he looked to Dudley, alone. 

“Go back home, Dudley!” Harry snapped out quickly. He flung his hand out, tried to scare the teenager home. “Get inside! Now!” 

“S-Stop what you’re doing!” Dudley stammered out. “I-I’ll tell m-mum!” 

Harry opened his mouth to shout further, and then paled when he saw the first Dementor tumble down from the sky. Instead of another yell of go home Harry bodily tackled Dudley to the ground with a cry. 

“ _GET DOWN!_ ” 

Harry clenched his eyes shut, pulled one fist up, and _prayed_. He didn’t want to see what would happen because honestly he left his wand back at home. For the first time since the summer Harry walked outside without his wand and he felt utterly stupid for it. His attention so focused on that damn, ridiculous book full of nothing but lies meant here, and now, he’d die. His soul would be sucked out from him, his magic and his very essence stolen from in a way not even the dusting of a Boss Monster could do. 

A bone prison quickly wrapped around him and Dudley, spears of blue and orange and _blue_ intermixed with painful white enclosed them in a cage. Harry panted, his soul felt heavy in his own chest. His limbs felt weak. He heard Dudley let out some sort of sound of surprise, and he glanced upward. The Dementors faded into fire and ash and brimstone, their forms burning away speared in sharp, cracked and broken bone. They shrieked and howled with a thousand voices, a thousand souls devoured and lost. 

 _Blood and dust, blood and dust, rain down on the field._

Harry swallowed and rolled off Dudley. He threw up. He passed out.

* * *

_He picked his way across the battlefield, a ghostly, glowing purple hand floated high above his head. A bright shield twisted and twined above his head, protected his otherwise towering form from blood and dust that rained from the sky. He didn’t bother to hike up his robes like he once might’ve, he ignored the way they dragged through the much—ignored the feel of it between his metatarsals and focused instead on the movement across._

**_blood and dust blood and dust rain down on the field_ ** ****

**_soak the earth soak the earth and scar it with your pain_ ** ****

**_blood and dust soak the earth let magic leave its mark_ ** ****

_He sighed, swept a hand out from where it clasped his other behind his back, and knelt down before the small, shivering form._

_“Blood and dust, blood and dust, rain down on the field,” he hummed softly, one hand reached out to tilt the bone white skull of the child before him back. “Let not your actions, nor your fear, herald upon you the fall.” Faint pinpricks stared back up at him and he smiled. “Let’s go home, brittle bones.”_

**_know your heart, and know your soul, here your actions be just_ ** ****

**_the dangers wrought, the damage done, but your survivals now come_ ** ****

_“Not my baby, please, not my baby!”_

_“Stand aside, you silly girl— **AVADA KADAVRA**!”_

_Pain, insurmountable, twisted and broken a shattered soul a shattered memory— **where?**_ ****

**_The child screamed._ **

* * *

Harry jolted with semi-wakefulness and a bright ache in his chest. Blearily he glanced up and then over—Dudley slung him over his shoulder like some sort of sack of potatoes. His gaze slipped down to the soul and for a moment he stared at the brighter shine, less muted and filled with whatever clouded it before. Harry breathed out a small sigh of relief and let his eyes slipped closed. He couldn’t hear anything aside from the beating of his heart, the beating of Dudley’s heart, but the gentle way Dudley carted him soothed something that ached. 

His soul, perhaps, Harry noted. Although why it’d ache over a bully like Dudley Harry didn’t quite comprehend. Exhausted the young mage let himself drift, eased by the faint murmur of Dudley speaking to someone—the voice sounded familiar in the way it spoke. Like a branch in the forest that snapped under a heel; a sharp crack that ached and then eased off into a gentle burn. 

“…reckon mum’s gonna be pissed,” Dudley sighed. 

“Oh you’ll handle her right as rain, you will. Damn lucky that boy had his wand on him, although why he’d waste so much magic…” 

“…don’t say that word so close to my house!” 

“...parents should be grateful…” 

Dudley heaved a sigh and his shoulder dug into Harry’s ribcage. Footsteps drifted off down in the distance, and then the sound of a door clicked open and Harry found himself unceremoniously on his ass. He stared dazed back up at Dudley who peered down at him, and then jerked his head toward the house. Harry glanced over—he didn’t question how Dudley knew he’d been awake. 

“Oh, we’re home?” Harry wanted to stretch and yawn, and maybe pop his jaw a bit, or his spine. He felt tightly wound up with nervous tension. 

“Don’t let mum and dad see you like this,” Dudley mumbled. “Or know about the cloak things.” 

Harry paused. Hesitantly, “You saw them?” 

Dudley stared down at the ground for a moment, and then glanced over to Harry with a meek look that the other teen didn’t know where to place. He gave him a sort of twisted smile, almost sad. Harry couldn’t fathom why his cousin gave him that look of all things. 

“I kind of missed you pulling bones out of nowhere, G,” Dudley said, then stepped through the doorway without a word. 

Harry stared, still sat on the porch. He stared even well after the owl that dropped the ministry notice, and then the second and third owl to come. He stared even after he heard Dumbledore’s howler in the house. 

_He kind of missed me pulling bones out of—wait. What?_


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denial isn't just a river. People should really just back off. Also super sniffer's are cheating.

The days passed rather slowly. After Dumbledore’s Howler and the letters from Mr. Weasley and the Ministry—something about a cast patronus charm which made utterly no sense. Harry didn’t even have his wand, damn them all. The idea that the Dementors might’ve been a set up made him itch. It didn’t help that Petunia and Vernon tried their best to keep Dudley far away from him after that Howler, which meant Harry couldn’t get any of the answers he sought. 

The souls from the guards outside fluttered and twisted with nervous energy. It honestly made him a little sick to see, so more often than not Harry kept his curtains closed tight. He spent the days and nights either sleeping or writing in his journal. Ever since the Dementors came the dreams grew worse and more scattered. They seemed less focused on events that repeated on a loop and more focused on things that happened long before. It felt like the close proximity knocked something loose. 

It reminded him of his initial response to the Dementors back in third year. Before that point Harry couldn’t remember his nightmares of the Underground aside from vague impressions. After his first interaction with the soulless monstrosities the nightmares became more tangible. Hermione and Ron noticed, and Harry began to wake up screaming. Thankfully they didn’t get worse now; thankfully he didn’t scream anymore, not even after this newest attack. 

That still didn’t answer the questions Dudley brought. Why did he call Harry _G_ of all things? The nickname felt familiar, like a faint memory that tickled across his senses but he couldn’t honestly recall. The unsurprised response to Harry manifesting bone attacks out of his magic also ticked something off. The whole interaction felt wrong—Dudley tormented him. Dudley took pleasure in that torment. The childhood game of Harry Hunting explained everything about the level of torment Dudley liked to give him. 

Except. _Except_. 

Harry thought back to the sight of Dudley’s soul. He never looked it over so intensely before then; all summer he honestly avoided Dudley and the rest of the Dursley’s. Something about Vernon’s soul made him utterly sick to his stomach and Harry thought it might’ve been the ill color it reflected. Petunia’s too felt corrupted for lack of a better word. The color to Dudley’s, the haze of _guilt_ and the nervous, utterly shy demeanor that washed over it all rang hollow with Harry’s memories. It felt _wrong_. What, then, could the problem be? Harry frowned and tapped his fingers against his lips as he stared up at the ceiling. 

Harry started when the door to his room burst open and Vernon stared down at him, dressed in a classic suit with his hair slicked back. He waited until Harry sat up on the bed, then huffed. 

“You are to stay in this room and touch nothing,” Vernon said sharply. Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Not the telly, not the fridge, do you hear me boy? Nothing.” 

“I understand,” Harry said carefully. He didn’t ask ‘why’ even though he sorely wanted to. That question would not go over well. 

Vernon eyed him, beady and untrusting, until he nodded once and slammed the door shut. Harry stared at it for a moment, utterly confused by the exchange. After a minute he shook his head and moved to flop back down, except then there came a short and quiet knock on the door. Harry stiffened. 

“Hey.” _Dudley_ , Harry noted. Dudley stood on the other side. “I know you’ve got questions, but uh. I won’t be able to answer them. Not really.” Dudley paused, and then sucked in a breath. “I know you’ll figure it out. You’re smart like that. Anyway, uhm, I left you a box of pasties in the cupboard. For when we leave.” Another pause, and then a sigh. “Bye, G.” 

 _G_ again. Harry frowned, and waited with bated breath but Dudley said nothing more. In fact, he could hear the front door slam shut, and then the start of the car. For a moment Harry hesitated, then he slipped out of bed and cracked open the door to his room. _Pastries, in the boot cupboard?_ Honestly he wondered how Dudley even thought of that. A joke? Probably not. In fact, Harry felt certain of it not being a joke. He sighed, kept the door open a crack, and then headed down the hallway and down the stairs. 

Harry found the cupboard easily enough. He knew the house’s layout rather intimately after all. Cautiously, because Harry could never quite tell if the Dursley’s chose to trick him or not, he opened up the cupboard door. Here Harry paused to stare because right where Dudley said there would be sat a box of pasties. Some part of Harry wondered why he even doubted Dudley. With an amused shake of his head Harry picked up the box of pasties, shut and relocked the cupboard door, and then slipped back up into his room. 

He settled down onto his ratty bed and nestled the box in-between his knees. Harry stared at it for a moment, and then carefully eased the lid open. Inside indeed lay some pasties, alongside a couple of torn pieces of paper and childish drawings. Harry swallowed and unfolded one of the pieces of paper. It held a scribble, a childish drawing. By the large circles Harry figured that one figure had to be him, the other beefier child shape probably meant to be Dudley. There were two hearts drawn messily on the paper; one orange that reminded Harry of Dudley. 

The other heart gave Harry pause. It looked weird, even for a child’s drawing. The lines were sharp, crisp despite the crayon used. It looked cracked, almost mish-mashed together between dark purple and grey. The broken, mish-mashed heart looked like it had two holes in it. Harry’s hand trembled, and he could remember— 

_—he drew that heart._

* * *

_“How’s tha, G!”_

_“Very good, Dud. It’s very accurate.”_

_“Now yours! Do yours!”_

_“Ah, but, Dud…ok. But only because you asked.”_

* * *

Harry woke up to the sound of pottery downstairs crashing into the entryway tile. He blinked his eyes and processed the sounds for a second before he stuffed the pictures back into the box of pasties that rested on his chest. Quietly Harry pried open the loose floorboard under his bed and wrapped the box in his invisibly cloak. He kept low to the floor, practically crawled over toward the wall and the end of his bed. Harry kept his attention perked on further noise, hushed and barked whispers off in the distance. One hand felt around in the dark under the bed until he came upon the broken cricket bat Dudley left in the room. 

Harry dragged the bat with him to crack open his bedroom door before he slipped over toward the door’s hinges. He kept himself low to the ground; his fingers sparked with magic for a second. He shook the magic off, held his breath, and waited. Harry didn’t have to wait long, the intruders made their way up the stairs rather conspicuously after all and before long he could even hear them speak. He scooted further back and scolded his magic silently for attempting to jump the gun on things. One of those voices belonged to _Moody_ of all people. 

Moody pushed the door open, magical eye swiveled around until it landed on Harry crouched in the dark. He scoffed. 

“Put the bat down, boy,” Moody drawled and flicked the light switch on. 

Harry eyed Moody, glanced to the paranoid ex-Auror’s soul—a rich, warm, ginger—and then carefully set the bat down when he noted the wand half-hidden by the man’s sleeve. 

“There’s a good lad,” Moody nodded once, then stepped aside to allow the others into the room. Harry recognized Remus easily—the comforting color of fern, Harry noted—the others he didn’t know aside from a slightly familiar excitable wizard he thought he met when a lot younger—dark, midnight blue that hid the excitable nature beneath its folds—and Harry cautiously got to his feet. 

Remus sighed, flicked on the light switch, and gave Moody a bit of the stink-eye. “You could’ve turned that on, you know.” 

Moody rolled his non-magical eye and cocked his head to the side despite the sudden spring of whispers behind the grizzled man. Harry didn’t even notice the whispers. Instead he wanted to back up, a bit wary of the uniquely crafted prosthetic eye, but he relaxed when Moody spoke up again. “Let’s get this over with. What’s your patronus, boy?” 

“A stag,” Harry replied dryly without preamble. 

“Was that necessary?” questioned a lanky, bubblegum haired witch who settled herself onto Harry’s bed. “Wotcher, Harry!” she greeted chipperly when she noticed his attention on her. Harry blinked at the bright, almost shining green soul with splotches of white that stared back at him. It felt a bit dizzying to see for a moment and he had to tear his eyes away from her. The way she began to grin unnerved him a little. 

“Get your introductions out of the way,” Moody nodded to Remus. “I’ll go secure the perimeter.” 

“Well!” Remus clapped his hands once Moody shuffled out of the room. “Let’s get those introductions out of the way, shall we?” 

Harry stared, blinked slowly, and just waited. He couldn’t be certain why all these _mages_ were even here after all. What purpose did they have to invade his home? 

“This is Nym—” 

“ _Don’t_ ,” the bubblegum girl snapped. “Call me that.” Almost instantly her attitude did a complete three-sixty as she chirped, “It’s Tonks! Nice t’meet’cha!” 

Harry shivered slightly, and gave a faint nod back. He noted mentally to never call her whatever Remus almost said. Remus coughed then continued calmly. 

“This is Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Remus nodded to a dark-skinned man with a fire bright soul. “Elphias Doge,” a salt and pepper haired wizard smiled back kindly with a sky bright soul, “and Dedalus Diggle,” the midnight blue soul stared back at him, familiar and uncomfortable in how it didn’t match up with the excitability. 

“We’ve…met,” Harry said cautiously, and then actually took a step back when the wizard squeaked. 

Remus introduced three others—Emmaline Vance, a royal violet souled witch, Sturgis Podmore, another pale cyan soul, and Hestia Jones last who had the final green color soul of the group. After meeting them Harry’s head hurt. The way their souls refused to stay in one place really felt dizzying; then the way they just _pulsated_ with emotion in the way the muggle souls didn’t—Harry wondered if he should fear having a seizure from it all. 

“Uhm, not to sound rude, but… _why_ are you here?” Harry asked, carefully stepping around the mess of people over toward Hedwig. At least her soul felt like a comfort—a soft, honey color that didn’t move and didn’t pulsate. 

“As Moody’d put it, we’re your honor guard,” Shacklebolt spoke up calmly. “We’re here to take you to Headquarters and we really don’t have much time.” 

Harry blinked. “But… _why?_ ” 

“Wotcher don’t tell me ya forgot about them Dementors, did ya Harry?” Tonks chirruped and Harry glanced to her, then away. 

Actually he had, but then Harry didn’t really consider them any more of a threat. They were fire and brimstone and _ash_ , the couldn’t hurt him or his anymore. He narrowed his eyes, then cast his mind back to the letters. He huffed. 

“I didn’t cast any patronus charm,” Harry snapped out and crossed his arms. He cocked his hip and glared at the gathered group. 

“Ah, then how’d you drive off them Dementors, Mr. Potter?” Diggle asked. He swiped his hat off of his head and fiddled with it before he put it back. The others began to gather up Harry’s things and put them away without his permission, and Harry felt his eye twitch. His ire rose. 

“There _wasn’t_ any Dementors,” Harry said through gritted teeth. Denial. Denial.  _Denial._

“Old Figg-y says differently,” Jones said calmly. 

“Miss Figg?” Harry’s face twisted. “The crazy cat lady next door? Your trusting _the crazy cat lady?_ ” He paused. “How does she even _know_ what Dementors are?” 

“Come now, Potter,” started Doge, and the rest began to clamor with explanations. They explained the watch guards, how Figg got assigned the job before Voldemort’s revival. How everything Harry knew about his own childhood could be considered a lie. His hands twitched, and he wanted to curse them all. _Damn_ them. 

“ _ENOUGH!_ ” Harry snapped out and the room quieted. “I know how I react to Dementors, and I can tell you there weren’t any. I didn’t perform magic and you can check my damned wand! Ask my cousin since _he was with me_. In fact all that happened is I collapsed from _sleep deprivation_ caused by _my fucking nightmares_ of Cedric _dying!_ ” 

By the end of it Harry panted, hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t mean to tell them about the nightmares, about the fever dreams and the terrors brought out within from Cedric dying repeatedly. Thankfully he didn’t touch upon his other dreams, the ones that grew frequent with death and destruction that haunted him more than Cedric ever did. He knew the ones who died in those dreams so much better, somehow, then he ever knew Cedric. He didn’t mention the Voldemort crafted nightmares either, although Ron and Hermione knew well about them. He refused to touch upon the reality of the Dementors being there anyway; he didn't do _magic_ so they couldn't claim there were any Dementors. There  _weren't_. 

At least the whole lot of them shut up. A part of Harry squirmed in guilt at the horrorstruck faces, especially how broken Remus seemed to look. The group milled around nervously for a second before Remus shooed them out of the room. Tonks looked at him with some sort of unreadable expression and Harry turned his head away from her. He refused to accept it, and with a sigh she slipped out of the room. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, and Harry’s soul clenched. 

“…you didn’t know,” after a minute, Harry muttered back. He glanced up at Tonks, who smiled, and then left the room. Given the pinched look to her face Harry didn’t doubt Moody would soon know the situation too. He sighed, hunched down on himself, and tried not to think of Remus’ hand when it rested on his shoulder. 

“Cub?” Remus asked softly. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Remus,” Harry said back almost bitterly. “Please.” 

Remus breathed out slowly, then pulled Harry into a hug. He nuzzled his face into the teenager’s hair, gave one comforting squeeze, and whispered softly into Harry’s ear words that made him stiffen straight solid. 

 _“I won’t tell anyone,”_ Remus said, _“but don’t think you can lie to me.”_ Remus pulled away and gave Harry a somewhat bitter smile, tapped the side of his nose, and then turned sharply to survey the room. “Let’s get you packed. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us.” 

“Flight?” Harry asked, forced himself to relax. He reminded himself that Remus cared about him. Remus _loved_ him. 

“Yeah. Moody’s got us flying brooms back to headquarters. You got anything warmer to wear?” 

Harry huffed, and together he and Remus tackled his room and got him into a warmer pair of clothes.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's not that odd. Possession is far more common in the wizarding world where souls tend to PERSIST. But then he's been matched with a MAGE SOUL, right?

The headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix both overwhelmed and underwhelmed in equal measure. The sheer number of souls that vibrated with varied intensity threatened to give Harry a migraine. The sheer pressure from everyone made Harry wish for the solitude of Privet Drive. The lack of any progress— _on anything_ ; Voldemort, the lined goals of the organization, even _organizing_ the organization—seriously made Harry a bit sick. The entire debacle screamed like chickens running around with their heads cut off. 

Harry’d seen better management skills out of an almost nine foot tall fluffy pushover with a penchant for tea and a habit for interrupting serious business. 

About the only good thing to come from his newest not-so-secret prison in fact were Ron and Hermione. They worked to buffer Harry from the mess of people around him; Hermione whispered theories and thoughts to somehow ‘turn off’ or ‘blind’ his new SOUL vision. Harry selfishly shared the box of pasties from Dudley with Ron; they discussed the repercussions of the photos and the scribbles and the memories that Harry couldn’t remember being dredged up. The mere feel of their two souls—a deep, ocean blue and a bright galleon-gold—helped ground Harry in the sudden sea of souls that surrounded him. 

The biggest downside to the whole affair all in all happened to be Sirius. The first time Harry laid eyes on his godfather since his arrival made the teenager freeze. His eyes widened in fear, his pulse raced. Sirius’ soul burned crimson and every time Harry saw it he thought of dust and marrow and death. Ever since Harry did his level best to avoid the man, even when he knew Sirius loved him in his own way. The color of the crimson SOUL and his dogfather’s manic, broken nature from long term Dementor exposure, often lead toward Harry breaking down. 

Thankfully not in Sirius’ presence, yet, and for that Harry felt a sliver of gratefulness. 

With a huff of a sigh Harry thunked his head back against the wall of the library, one of the few sanctuaries he, Ron, and Hermione nestled out in Grimmauld Place. Hermione nudged him in the rib from where she curled up on one side, the _Monster Moratorium_ rested on Harry’s lap like a table. Ron leaned against Harry’s other side, knees pressed into Harry’s knees for physical comfort that until the past two years Harry did little to encourage. 

“So’s like this, yeah mate?” Ron mumbled around a piece of licorice. Harry lolled his head to glance at the diagram Ron sketched out with the pencil set Hermione handed his way. Ron worked on transcribing Harry’s half-jumbled thoughts and dreams into something a bit more cohesive and understandable; especially the periodic sections where Harry tried to describe some specific train of thought that involved something like science. 

“Close,” Harry hummed. He reached out with his free hand—Hermione’d claimed his other arm for a chin rest—and traced his finger around the horn ridge. “Sharper angle here.” He drew his finger around the eye sockets carefully. “Sloped more here. Better for the focusing array.” The more he spoke, the more half-lidded his eyes became. Ron nodded and made careful adjustments, and a note on what Harry said. 

“Hm, almost reminds me of a Ridgeback,” Ron mused. 

Harry relaxed against the wall. “Dragons were an…inspiration.” 

“Think we could reconstruct it?” 

“Mmm…with the right tools, it might be possible,” Harry mused and let his head relax and drop onto Ron’s shoulder. 

Hermione turned a page, but she didn’t read it. Instead she quietly took note of what Harry said now that they’d gotten him to fully relax. Surreptitiously she took in his face, noted how his right eye drooped a bit and the faint glow to the normally bright green iris’. She exchanged a short glance to Ron who began to flip through the journal for any hint of the tools Harry referenced. 

They’d both noticed that when Harry finally, truly relaxed this other personality became more dominant, more apparent. Harry himself didn’t seem to notice the shift, or even that he knew things he didn’t before. It felt almost like a whole other presence settled within Harry, a form of semi-possession. In the wizarding world phenomena similar to this situation weren’t entirely unheard of. Usually a strong, persistent soul that didn’t even know it’d died latched onto the nearest wizarding soul it could. 

Sometimes the souls were newly dead, sometimes they’d been dead for centuries and only just gathered enough of themselves to regain a sort of conscious state. Hogwarts in fact went through a lot of these semi-possessions a year. The castle itself existed as a fortress during war times, so to find a soul attached to a young wizard or witch without any realization that they weren’t the same person happened more often than anyone cared to admit. 

Hermione and Ron and even Harry watched classmates go through the process before. There would be moments where the dead soul came to be in control, and when that happened classmates and occasionally the teachers who bothered to notice carefully worked the soul through its own memories until it could remember that it no longer lived. At that point the souls usually passed on, let go of its earthly bounds. Sometimes a soul needed to do something to let go, and other times they refused. The ghosts came from the souls that refused. 

Hermione, privately to Ron, theorized that the soul Harry connected to most likely existed during the War with the Monsters, hence his focus on them and their magic. Probably a Mage with sympathies given some of the things Harry said; in Hogwarts’ history less than half a dozen Mage souls actually resurfaced. Almost all of them persisted for a short while before they moved on. Without the War to focus on, they held no reason to stay. Except this soul cropped up with Harry, someone attacked continuously by a dark lord. That, fundamentally, could change the situation. 

Harry gently tugged the book from Ron’s hands and flipped towards the back end of it when he realized Ron’s goal. There, towards some of the last pages filled in, he showed a rough sketch of some of the materials that one would need to build the magical contraption. 

“A lot of electricity is required to properly bring it online,” Harry pointed out, showing the generator. “I used the CORE to help facilitate mine.” 

Harry mentioned that before, the CORE. From what they gathered out of his notes and the half-mentioned phrases the CORE in fact converted raw magical energy from a lay line into functional electricity through the use of thermodynamics from a magma chamber and a rudimentary cooling system that worked with a mix of magic and actual ice. 

“They were supposed to utilize raw data gathered on the soul to mimic the strength of a mage,” Harry continued. He flipped a few pages back. “See here? Seven concentrated doses of a mix of determination and one of those defining traits that human mages focused on so much to funnel their magic. It pulled on the spectrum here—warm to cold—and then merge them all into one, combine the beams and the targeting arrays and…we have the facilitated power of seven human mages created artificially in a lab, held together by monster magic and piss-poor hope.” 

Harry’s tone grew a bit derisive near the end there, his gaze a bit more distant. He sighed. 

“It didn’t work,” he said, and tugged his hand away from the book. Ron and Hermione exchanged another faint look. “Honestly they’re more like dogs than anything.” 

“They?” Ron questioned. 

“They were sentient,” Harry shrugged. “Not worth continuing the project when a weapon turned out to have a brain. Or a soul.” He sighed. “I’ll admit I liked their company, though. I rather miss that connection.” 

For a moment nobody said anything, and then Harry stretched and pulled his arm from Hermione’s grip and he blinked. His eyes returned to normal. Hermione sat up and closed her book, and Ron flipped his own notebook shut. They all sat up and Harry sighed. He scrubbed his hand through his hair tiredly. 

“Let’s get to work on figuring out how to face that trail of yours,” Hermione said. Harry shot her a look, and she raised her eyebrows in response. 

“Fine, fine,” the chosen one grumbled. He got up and began to browse through the shelves for books on law. Ron stuffed the notebooks and the _Monster Moratorium_ into the invisibility cloak, and then stuffed that into a book bag. Ron and Hermione quickly joined Harry in browsing the library. They needed to be prepared for anything.

* * *

  _He wrapped Dudley up into a hug and pressed a careful kiss to the child’s head. Quickly he pressed a small pendent into the child’s hand and forced the bow to clasp his fingers around it. He pressed the hand into Dudley’s chest, right over where his SOUL rested._

_“Don’t ever let this go,” he whispered. “Understand?”_

_Dudley nodded, tears in his eyes, and when the bedroom door burst open he got to his feet and stood in front of Dudley. His eyes were narrowed, his hands clenched to fists at his side. He stared at the shifting, pulsing **red red red red red** SOUL in front of him, and then up at ice cold blue eyes that stared at him with disgust. He felt his lips curl, his hands ignited into purple fire. He refused to let this MAGE touch the innocent that he spent the past few years caring for._

_“I can’t believe I missed this,” the man sighed, raised the focus in his hand. “We can’t have a MONSTER like you around.”_

_He didn’t have time to dodge or even think of a response. He’d never seen a MAGE with a focus before, at least not a focus as cumbersome as a stick. The sickly **red red red red red** SOUL glowed brighter, more menacing—a flash and he collapsed like a puppet who lost its strings. Empty, thoughtless— **a void**._

_A void filled with a child’s screams—_

_—he cradled the little brittle bones in his arms and hummed a faint lullaby. Children born in war, to war, were blessed and cursed and he knew this well. The bright, twisted, overflowing well of magic and the utter massacre he’d found the child in explained enough of the boy’s situation._

_“Come now child, you need to eat,” he murmured softly and tried to set the boy down into a chair at the encampment that served as his temporary home. Small, small for even a child of his supposed age but he couldn’t let that bother him. Too much magic could stunt growth, and war made growth even harder. He didn’t doubt the little baby boss lost too much too quickly. The way the boy clung to him though—familiar, a gut sort of twist—he glanced down to his mangled and near useless right hand._

_For a moment he regretted—everything. He regretted his role in events, he regretted his choices he—_

_—he stood before one of his oldest friends, head bowed and hand clenched tight over where his SOUL rested. The armor felt ice cold and it dug into his bone awkwardly. Hs left side felt too hot, curtesy of the elemental beside him who followed his position. Four of them in total bowed their head and clasped their hands in front of their monarch. Their faces were stretched grim. They waited._

_“It is over,” all nine-feet boss monster breathed. Her voice wavered, slightly, and then she sighed and folded her hands. “Sir Grillby, Sir Rivers, Sir Gerson, Sir A—”_

_—his hands shook. He stared at the two grieving parents, unsure what to say. Unsure if his platitudes would mean anything in the end. Another child lost, and a child between these two…he trembled. He couldn’t save them. He couldn’t. He couldn’t._

_What a useless friend he was. So useless, completely useless; if only he’d succeeded on the project he might have presented this he might have…he collapsed to his knees and buried his face into his hands. His soul ached, a tired burn of too much too soon too quick. He didn’t even notice when warm, fuzzy arms encased him in that hug and soft muzzles pressed against his cheek._

_A failure. He was, inevitably, a failure._

* * *

Time worked against him, but then time always worked against him. Before Harry knew it the day of his trial—they called it a hearing but he could read between the lines—fell down around his ears. Mr. Weasley gathered him up that morning, let Ron and Hermione hug him and provide him the comforting, soothing warmth of their souls for a brief second before they were off. Mr. Weasley’s soul stood stark compared to the rest of his family, soft, cool colors instead of the bright warmth Harry met with the other Weasley children and Mrs. Weasley. The green shade suited the man, though, so Harry found himself relaxing in the elder wizard’s presence. 

They left early that day, not for any reason other than Mr. Weasley actually needed to be at work early anyway and since Harry needed to be in the Ministry why not Mr. Weasley take him that day? So Harry found himself alongside Mr. Weasley in a trip through the muggle Underground system. The irony of the name actually burned sick in Harry’s gut, but he pushed past it. 

The trip itself didn’t take much time, or much of anything. Harry handled the affair—the tickets, the money, everything—because Mr. Weasley didn’t have a single clue. Sometimes the efforts wizards and witches went to separate themselves from their non-magical counterparts completely baffled the teen. He knew once they were one force—the War with Monsters practically screamed it—but now they actively fought to be separated. 

The whole situation felt dizzying; combined with his half-formed thoughts and dreams, and probably memories of a life with Mages and the War and then Underground—Harry didn’t know what to think anymore. Instead he focused on the information that Ron and Hermione came together with him, focused on the knowledge that to the Ministry the Dementor’s couldn’t exist because if he _didn’t_ cast that Patronus charm, he’d be dead if they did. So he pushed onwards, followed Mr. Weasley through the strange and nonsensical ‘public entrance’ into the Ministry of Magic. 

The place felt like slime. Harry wondered how mages could survive like this. 

Harry handed over his wand to be weighed, followed after Mr. Weasley in practical silence. He recounted the information again, and again, and again silently to himself. He committed it to memory until he could quote everything forward, backward, and in bits and pieces. He completely missed all of the tidbits Mr. Weasley provided him about the Ministry. Harry found he didn’t really care. 

Harry didn’t like the Mage Government. It seemed just as terrible as the one that came before it. The rushed wizard who came up to them, explained that the trail changed venues—something about a Courtroom Ten, old and unused now—didn’t really surprise him. He and his friends figured the Ministry would pull something underhanded like this considering the letter he received. Silently, face preserved blank, Harry followed Mr. Weasley down the hallway. He noted the path they’d taken, about the only thing he focused on aside from his side of the story, and he made further note of the door. 

Harry dreamed about that door, about this corridor. He paused only for a second, and the strode after Mr. Weasley quickly. He ignored the way the other man panted and sweated nervously, and when they came upon Courtroom Ten Harry gave him a nod. 

“It’ll be fine,” Harry said. He didn’t believe it himself, but preparedness meant the first step to survival. Mr. Weasley nodded and Harry slipped through the door and into the dreaded courtroom. 

For a moment Harry stood there. He surveyed the rows of wizards and witches who stared down at him, judging. He looked over the circular room with a clinical eye—he recognized this room. He _knew_ this room. Harry clenched a hand at his side and fought down the tremble and the urge to wreath his hands in his magic. He took a steadying breath and stepped once, twice, until he stood before the full Wizengamot in front of the chair. 

The chains rattled like bone. Harry ignored them and focused his gaze sharply on the fifty or so members dressed in plum— _perseverance and determination, disgustingly fitting_ —and breathed out through his nose heavily. 

“You're late,” Fudge said coldly. 

“I’m perfectly on time,” Harry noted with a slight glance to his watch. “In fact I’m thirty seconds _early_. Imagine that.” He watched a member of the Wizengamot check the time and a small murmur of agreement rose. 

“Take your seat,” the Minister blustered, face a bit pinched. 

“The seat for criminals?” Harry clarified calmly. “So this is indeed a trial, then?” Harry hummed, thoughtfully, and settled down on the edge of the chair. “Very well, then. I had hoped…ah, but I suppose in the end I was wrong. Pity.” 

The calm, almost deadpan spoken words unsettled Fudge and Harry felt his lips curl into a smile. He folded his hands in his lap and waited while the man dabbed at his forehead and started the procedure. He honestly couldn’t wait until he could tear their arguments to shreds, cast a terrible light on the pathetic excuse for a governing body. Perhaps he could get some just payback for all the shit they’d dunked on him—on his kind—on everyone they abused. His smile widened. The Mages had no idea who they were up against. 

Ha _ ~~(Gaster)~~_ rry would _enjoy_ this.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little logic and MAGES fold like cards. His nightmares feed on his lack of satisfaction. The bond between SOUL and MEMORY grows.

“Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric—” 

Harry’s nostrils flared with a sharp, near silent breath. His hands clenched tightly together. _Crimson, **red** , **intent**_ bled through the man so sharply and familiar like a haze. He trembled from his position, surrounded and tethered by so many kinsouls who bled and ached and hurt. A crowd of survivors rounded up and huddled together at the entrance of their would-be-prison. He stood at the front, watched, waited. 

 _Crimson, **red**_ curled tight around her. He could see the fledgling soul that burned and grew—could feel the fledgling heartbeat from so far away. They knew, she knew, by the way her hands curled protectively around herself even within the tight hold that kept her steady and still. He knew too by the way his face pinched, head bowed in forced submissiveness. His face bled, arm twisted— _broken_. Everything _broken_. 

_~~Gaster—~~ _

Harry snapped back, forced his gaze away from Dumbledore’s chest, just as the man finished. His thoughts scrambled— _witness **for** the defense, he said?_ —and for a moment he almost missed the stuttering of the Minister and the genial response from the old man before he stood abruptly, thought half formed in his mind— 

_—witness my bony backside!_

Everyone stared at him, and it took Harry a second to realize he said that completely out loud. He flushed red. “Er, what I mean to say is—in regards to a witness _for_ the defense it is required that said witness have either witnessed the events themselves, or be capable of providing a proper quote of the defense in questions character, correct?” 

His gaze darted about, looked to each soul carefully, until it landed on one soul that shone a brilliant white-gold. For half a second his eyes colored purple— 

 _Madam Amelia Bones  
_ À̳̹̪̳̟̭̪͕̻͖̳̯̞͙̗̤̰͞T̸͍̱͇̩̣̤̠̼͕̮͔̹̼͉͓̭̼̀͟͟K̢͙̗͕̞̜̯̼͕͞:̷̶̪͍̦͍͔̯̫̩̲̠͜ͅ ̸̗̤͚̹̹̠̹̙̠͘͟͡2̴̻̺̝̟̺͎̣̱̗̪̺̹̭͇͖̟͟͠5̶̨̨͟҉̲̞͓͉͉͓̝̭  
̸̧̖̲̯̞̺͎̰͉͎̠̝̘̼͚̙̀͠͠D̕͞͏̜̝̺̣̭͈̬͉̟͟Ȩ̡̤̞̫̦̲͙̯̝̳̪̱̯̯̩̀F̢̛͈̞̣̫͕͔͍͎́͝͝:̸̘̝͈̙͙̰͕̦͕̩̠͓̕͘͟͟ ҉̶̜̞̙̪̠̺̘̙̦̠͇͔̬4̶̶̢͎̩͓̟̖̙͚̟̬͈̰̟̮̟̰̱0̴̠̤̩̥̣̹̼̤̗̻̯̜̦̯̺́ͅ  
̢̲̘̘̣̤͘͘ͅH̖̳̟̱͉̥̳͖̫͕̻̱̘̹̟͉̘͟ͅP̢̦̼͙̞͇͖̬̳̼͖̻͖̯͕̻͠ͅ:̨͏̭̮̙̮̩̺̬̮̞̙̲̭ͅͅͅ ̵̷̱͖̭̼̫͘͢4̷̨͔̪̞̤̝̯̭̘͉̠͙̟́̕5̨̨̦̟̠͓̱͔̘̹͍̝̞̗̰͓̙͍̟̣̙́  
 _*May fire and brimstone fall upon those who tip the SCALES toward the unJUST_

—green sharpened and Harry tilted his head, curious as to what would be said. He kept his gaze solely focused on Madam Bones and ignored the rest of the SOULS before him. 

“W-well that is true,” Fudge blustered and glanced around. 

“Then Headmaster Dumbledore can complete neither possible role as a witness,” Harry continued. He watched the way the SOUL glowed and shifted, almost with indignant righteousness. “After all the man knows me as merely my Headmaster, for all the trouble I get into at school, and was neither a witness to the proposed event in question.” 

“Ah, but I am filling in for a character witness of your magical prowess,” Dumbledore said brightly. Harry could hear the faint tightness in his voice. “I also have others who come for your defense.” 

“Headmaster Dumbledore, are you meant to say you are filling as both a witness, _and_ as a legal representative on my behalf?” Harry arched an eyebrow. He noted how Bones’ fingers twitched. 

 _Almost there_. 

“Well yes—” 

“And yet as I understand it you have no legal ground to be my representative, nor have you spoken to me in regards to the situation at hand. How can you know the intricate details of events in question, let alone who might have borne witness to them, if neither of us have spoken at all once since the end of the school year?” 

Before Dumbledore could get a word in edge-wise, Madam Bones stood up to her full height and Harry repressed a faint smirk. Ah, there the SOUL practically shone and he settled back slightly. 

“Albus,” the woman said briskly, lips pressed thin, “I have to bring to question your suitability in this case. If Mr. Potter is correct in that you have not spoken with him since the end of term—” here she glanced to Harry who nodded. “—and considering your position as _Headmaster_ and not caregiver your tenuous status as witness already bore question; now I can say without a doubt they are void.” 

“Here, here!” Fudge squeaked. 

“Take your seat in the galley,” Madam Bones nodded her head, then turned toward Harry. “Do you have legal representation?” 

“I was not informed of my _hearing_ becoming a _trial_ , so no,” Harry said blithely. “Which is fine,” he continued before she could raise protest. “Honestly, I see no reason for it. This whole endeavor is rather straight forward, anyway. Shall we continue?” 

Fudge cleared his throat and began to read off the charges. Harry skimmed the Wizengamot again, noted Dumbledore’s frown, and then settled his gaze back upon Madam Bones. With that out of the way the trial began in earnest, and Harry waited patiently. 

“You are Harry James Potter of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey,” Fudge cleared his throat. “Yes?” 

“That is correct,” Harry replied, gaze slowly slipped toward half-lidded. 

“Three years ago you received a notice for illegal magic, correct?” Fudge continued. 

“Three years ago I received notice for _underage magic_ ,” Harry clarified sharply, and glanced toward Fudge who paled slightly, sweated, and glanced around the room. “Wording is important, is it not?” 

“Erm, yes.” Fudge sucked in a breath, then continued. The whole room stood silent as he spoke; even Dumbledore tensed, a scowl across his face. Harry tried to ignore him. 

_Crimson, **red,** malicious intent seeped into everything watching, watching, watching—_

“—on the night of the second of August?” Fudge finished off brightly. Harry blinked, cast back for the words, then sighed. 

“ _No_ ,” he said succinctly, and Fudge faltered. 

“What?” 

“I did not cast a Patronus on the night of the second of August,” Harry said. He carefully fished his wand out from his picket and held it up I his palm. “I submit my wand. Feel free to check the last spells I used.” 

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, and then a tightly, pitched _hem hem_ sounded from the gallery. Harry glanced to the sound, and then double checked what he saw indeed existed. He blinked for a second, stared unerringly at—at _what_? It looked like a Froggit except that’d be rude to the Froggit. Froggits never wore pink cardigans first of all, and they rather avoided humans as a partner and the colors were all wrong. In fact she looked a bit putrid—the SOUL itself no better, sickly in color and it’s _shape_ , oh stars—Harry swallowed heavily to stop the bile from rising any further. 

“How do we know that you have not cast anything to _hide_ the patronus charm used?” the thing sang out in a sickly sweet, nauseating tone. 

“I would have more than simply two notices,” Harry said clearly, sharply, “unless of course there is something about the trace of underage magic that might bring that into question?” 

The thing faltered, and Harry nodded once. 

“Madam Bones?” he asked politely. “Will you please check my wand?” 

Madam Bones got up from her seat, surveyed the galley—a ringing endorsement of the check came from near every corner—and she promptly made her way down. Carefully she hefted the holly wooded focus up into her hand and shuffled out her own wand. She held the tip forward, then paused. 

“You are aware of course that this spell will tell only if you’ve cast a charm in the past two months, and the last charm cast?” Madam Bones queried. 

“Of course,” Harry nodded. He watched her SOUL flare bright, but the sudden cry from Fudge cut it off abruptly before the magic released. Harry sighed. 

“Now see here!” Fudge blustered. “He could’ve used another wand. We can’t verify that—” 

“Minister you do know all wands are verified at the entrance to the—” 

Like _that_ the whole room erupted into noise. Harry’s lips quirked up at the chaos, and he glanced to Madam Bones who sighed, her faced pinched with frustration. Her SOUL glowed, the spell cast—it came up empty as Harry expected, he’d not used his wand once after all—and after she handed the focus gently back to Harry she released a loud bang to the room. 

“ENOUGH!” 

Madam Bones twisted to glare at the gathered members. “The wand is clear,” she said sharply. “No spells registered.” 

“I didn’t even have my wand on me this summer, since it is a _muggle neighborhood_ that I live in,” Harry said dryly. “Which any of you would have known if you weren’t too busy _trying a minor_ like he’s a _grown adult past his majority_.” He eyed the whole room disdainfully. “After all this is a _trial_ and not a _hearing_ like I’d been lead to believe, something that happens to those past the age of seventeen, am I right?” 

“You are,” Madam Bones said coldly. “I am ashamed that we have been lead here on false pretenses. I motion to dismiss this case, since there isn’t even a case.” 

“Please investigate why a notice happened to be sent to my home about my wand scheduled to be snapped and myself _expelled_ under the claim of a charm I cast, when I hadn’t cast anything all summer,” Harry added. 

“But—the Dementors—” Dumbledore spluttered. 

“What Dementors?” Harry cocked his head. “Who mentioned Dementors, Headmaster?” 

“Arabella Figg said—” 

“As I told your friends who came to retrieve me from my home for the end of the summer,” Harry said slowly, “why are you trusting the word of the _crazy cat lady_ that lives next door? I understand she’s a squib…but she’s a bit…ah, stereotypical crazy cat lady next door.” 

The room burst into murmurs and quick talk before unanimously they declared Harry innocent of all charges. Honestly Harry felt a bit jilted over it all. He didn’t nearly get to tear into them as much as he would’ve liked. Meeting Madam Bones, though, certainly made up for it in the long run. Such a brilliantly, _unique_ , SOUL; filled with _JUSTICE_ and yet somehow more ephemeral in comparison to most mages. 

In the midst of the chaos Harry gave a nod to Madam Bones and slipped from the room. He wanted to return to his friends and the peace they brought to his troubled SOUL. 

* * *

_He was a mess of bones, twisted up and trembling. He couldn’t count the number of aches and pains that surged through him, couldn’t count the ways his hands just hurt from spasmodic twitches, couldn’t count the way his magic seeped and bled out of him with every wet, broken gasp. His vision faded, a sort of distant broken fuzziness that tore at his throat and at his ability to hear. Everything felt like static tasted, sharp and painful and a buzzing that wouldn’t leave._

_A wall, coalesced magic, condensed with the magic from a MAGE. Seven of them, seven SOULS to seal them away. Semi-opaque, he noted, but it throbbed and pulsed like a heart that beat. Monster white which he understood—Monster white only meant that it held ever SOUL under the sun, every trait, every trace of magic. He shivered, shuddered, whined at the sight of it. They’d succeeded. Sealed and entrapped in a cave system with no way out—alone, broken; oh he’d dust here wouldn’t he? He could feel the red of his marrow trickle out, feel the pain swell and crest with every breath._

_Ribs broken, he noted; right femur, oblique fracture—cracked sternum **that hurt** something awful. His face felt rather bashed—and yes, the zygomatic, frontal, and maxilla bones all had various cracks and fractures throughout. The back of his skull felt weirdly empty and for a moment he wondered if it’d just completely fell away into dust._

_No, no; just numb, still there but just numb. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but couldn’t. He almost continued to note down how his radius, ulna, humerus, and clavicles faired—he didn’t want to think about his metacarpals or phalanges because they just **hurt** and **burned** and gods he didn’t want to contemplate the complete loss of both his hands. Not now._

_Not when he felt like dust already._

**_Was one of his lumbar vertebrae missing?_ **

_He whined; shit, shit, shit, shit, **shit**. Not even on the battlefield did he come off this bad. At least he—at least he **what?**_

_“—got to hang in there!”_

**_What?_ ** ****

_“—healer here—”_

_“—can make it? Tori—”_

**_What?_ ** ****

_“—don’t care! Get another—”_

_“They’re exhausted!”_

_“Gorey listen **to me!** We will save Sir—”_

_He faded out, then back in, and his sockets twitched and that **hurt**. He whined again, but this time the soft warm glow of green magic edged at him, edged at the worse of the injures. He blinked, minded the burn—when did he get picked up? Who carried him? His head lolled over a furred arm—there, Toriel next to him, arms green. Bright, bright, bright **green**._

_Oh don’t do that. Don’t **do** that. Silly woman, cease this instant! Not worth it, never worth it—you’ll just **hurt** yourself you fool!_

_He groaned, twisted—screamed. Someone screamed. Him? No. Sans? Sans. Shit, **Sans!**_

_The sound of a whoopee cushion._

_“Pff, guess I should call you **Gas** ter then, huh, doc?”_

_Irritable, lovable, insufferable **Sans**._

_“No, no, no, no, no you can’t, you can’t, don’t you dare don’t—get away from me you **dirty brother killer!** ”_

_Where…was…_

_“Gas’er, Gas’er! Lookit!”_

_Who…was…_

_Laughter; giggles high pitched and crooning. Static, sharp, starkly burning. The taste of crimson and ash and dust and blood and marrow and—_

**_Oh you foolish old skeleton. Did you ever think you left?_ ** ****

_No, no, no he—he—_

_—_ he stared at his hands, uncomprehending. He stared at the bone constructs that thrust through his palms, at the bits and broken pieces of the bones beneath his skin, that poked out of the skin. He stared, confused. It hurt, but it hurt in a familiar way. Hadn’t these broken before? He couldn’t process it; he stared. 

Harry didn’t notice Ginny screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't figure out how to end this chapter. It didnt' seem right to stop it after the trial, so that last sequence just happened. THe frustrating part is I planned for that to happen LATER. However the sequence just...flowed...and now I can't think of a way to undo it. So it happens now. Eh.


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some secrets some people want kept. Not all SOULs remain pure. Sometimes things change, and sometimes what you think is real is all a lie.

Harry looked slowly up at Ginny by the time the door to the room opened, for the first time noticing her screaming. He summoned one bone hand, and with a light touch and red _Determination_ cast a stunning spell. She collapsed, caught by another two bone hands that set her down. Remus took stock of the room, of the gaping wide eyed Ron and the open mouthed, hands slapped over her face in horror Hermione. He glanced to Ginny, then to Harry who sluggish bled with broken bones and a dazed look on his face. 

Remus sighed and stepped further into the room; he shut the door softly behind him, lightly touched Harry on the shoulder—a flash of red and Harry slumped over into unconsciousness. Hermione squeaked in surprise at the very obvious wandless magic, but Remus didn’t really pay her much mind except for a half-glance. 

“Ms. Granger,” Remus said softly, and Hermione jumped into the air. “Please go and get Tonks for me.” 

“B-But—” Hermione started. Remus knelt beside Harry and gently began to shift him from his slumped over position to catalogue the full damage. 

“I have this,” Remus said. “Please get Tonks.” 

Hermione trembled for a moment, and then burst out of the room like a bat out of hell. Remus glanced to Ron, and then to Hermione. The young Weasley needed no further prompting and moved to pick up his sister and lay her down on another bed while Remus focused on cataloguing the injuries and ensuring that Harry laid in a way where they wouldn’t get worse. 

“He had a resonance, didn’t he,” Ron said cautiously. 

“A pretty nasty one, by the look of it,” Remus agreed grimly. 

“Hermione thought it might’ve been a normal synthesis,” Ron sighed as he pulled the covers up over Ginny. “It’s not that at all though, is it.” 

Remus hummed and peered at the bone that stuck out from Harry’s hands—bits of his phalanges, it looked like, almost in a perfect circular shape. There were a few other obvious injuries—part of Harry’s chest looked a bit caved in, and then there were the fractures across his face, and one of his legs. Remus took this all in, carefully setting the bones he could. 

“No,” Remus said softly. “This is the result of a particular bad echo feedback from the memory and soul.” 

“I thought so.” Ron came over toward Harry’s side and peered down at the unconscious teen. “Nothing about this felt even remotely like the other synthesis we’ve seen. ‘Mione thought it’s just cuz’ it’s Harry but…that’s not it at all. It’s something else.” 

Remus chuffed a sort of self-depreciating laugh. Something else certainly put things in perspective. Assured he’d done the best he could until Tonks showed up Remus got to his feet and tiredly scrubbed a hand along the back of his neck. 

“It’s not a bonding, either, if that’s what you think,” Remus said. “It’s more of an amalgam.” 

Ron hummed in thought, peered at Harry rather intensely. “Didn’t know we could do that.” 

“You can’t,” Remus said tightly. Ron glanced up toward Remus; despite what people thought Ron understood far more than he let on. He came from an old pureblood family after all. If they didn’t keep to the traditions from the time when the word Mage meant something beyond insanely powerful then they’d could kiss what little standing they had left goodbye. 

“So that means…” Ron continued cautiously. 

“It’s better to explain once Ms. Granger is back,” Remus said. He sounded tired. Ron wondered how the man knew all of this so well. “I don’t want to have to tell the story more than once.” 

Ron stared, somewhat uncomprehending. 

“You know something,” the freckled teen murmured, he looked down to Harry curiously. “Something we’ve missed.” 

“I’m sure you’ve picked it up,” Remus shook his head ruefully. “After all, you have a strong JUSTICE oriented SOUL.” Remus gave the teen a wry grin. “Don’t you?” 

Ron peered at him, lips pursed. He wanted to ask, but refrained. Remus already said he’d explain once Hermione came back, and maybe once she did she’d finally listen to his side of things. After all he grew up with all the SOUL stuff; Hermione only came into it when she arrived at Hogwarts, like every other Muggleborn. Ron huffed, but sat down on the edge of Ginny’s bedside. He glanced to his younger sister almost sadly. 

“I can remove it if you wish,” Remus said cautiously. “It’s not my…orientation, but in this case….” Ron nodded grimly. He’d rather Ginny not remember the scene she walked in on. Remus sighed in a burst of relief and stepped up around Harry’s bed and over to the bed Ron laid Ginny down in. He carefully reached out and concentrated. 

By the sweat on Remus’ brow Ron could tell this really _wasn’t_ his orientation, still, with a flash of light blue tinted with some green—it reminded Ron of seafoam, not quite the spell of the memory charm but something close, something tinged with what Ron assumed was in fact Remus’ SOUL orientation—and then Ginny seemed to just relax. 

“It’s not removed,” Remus panted softly, “merely…submerged. That’s the best kindness I could give her.” 

Ron nodded, and in that moment the door opened and Tonks slipped into the room. She glanced to Harry, and then over to Remus. Briskly she made her way toward the werewolf and glanced down at Ginny. 

“Is it what I’m thinking…?” Tonks mumbled, and shot a glance to Harry. Remus nodded, an almost grim smile on his face. “Well then. That’s…not as bad as I feared, I guess.” She looked toward Harry, eyes almost terribly soft. “For a moment….” 

“You can see it better than me,” Remus said cautiously, and Tonks nodded. “Skelegro?” 

“I don’t know if it’ll work right,” Tonks frowned. “Not with how his magic’s reacting right now.” 

“It’s a resonance, Tonks,” Remus said dryly. “An echo feedback.” 

Tonks snorted. “It’s bound to react as more than that,” she pointed out dryly. “Or did you forget—” Remus shook his head sharply and Tonks grinned. “Well, at least it’ll heal what it can. You’re gonna explain some shit to the kiddies?” 

“Ms. Ganger at least needs to be caught up,” Remus retorted. “If these kids wish to help him, they have to have a better picture than working on your typical Hogwarts synthesis.” 

Tonks searched Remus face; she tried to reason what Remus planned to do with this knowledge specifically, how far he planned to share. “And Harry?” 

“He already knows,” Remus pointed out under his breath. “Somewhere, in there, he knows exactly what is going on. Any outside interference could end….” Remus searched for a polite way to put it, but Tonks nodded before he could, turned, and strode from the room without any further word. 

When the door clicked shut Remus turned around to glance at Hermione whose face held tear tracks and whose eyes watered. She kept her gaze solely on Harry and didn’t seem to have registered Remus and Tonks’ conversation, although Ron he noticed did. Ron wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, face set into a pensive frown. Remus strode the short distance between the beds and knelt at Harry’s side. 

“I need you two to sit down,” Remus said. “I have to remove the bone shards sticking out, and you might not want to watch while I do that.” He didn’t intend to rip them out or anything, but Remus knew he couldn’t just vanish them. Not with the way they happened, at least. The most he _could_ attempt would be the cutting curse, and he didn’t want Hermione to fall into a complete panic attack at the action. He let out a sigh when Ron led her over to where Ginny rested. 

“What—What happened to him?” Hermione asked hoarsely. She leaned into Ron for comfort. 

Remus calmly got to work, a light flash of green accompanied the silent, wordless magic while he carefully broke and removed the bones. 

“It’s a phenomena you wouldn’t be familiar with,” Remus said softly. “It’s…complicated to explain.” 

“It’s just a synthesis gone wrong, right?” Hermione questioned. 

“No, ‘Moine,” Ron muttered. “This definitely isn’t a synthesis. You heard what he said, right? Echo feedback, resonance? That stuff doesn’t happen with a synthesis. You get echoes yeah but not a feedback. That only happens with repressed shit.” 

“Or suppressed,” Remus said calmly. “What Harry is going through…tell me, when did this first start?” 

“When did what first start?” Hermione asked, confusion winning out over horror. 

“The memories, the dreams, the magic?” Remus murmured. “This whole mess. Not necessarily this echo feedback, but the resonance. When did you first notice it?” 

“Third year,” Ron said. “After the Dementor on the train. Harry started to wake up screaming.” 

Remus nodded; it added up. The Dementor tugged on Harry’s SOUL, probably shook loose something that’d been removed, repressed, or even chained. He thought something felt off about the kid, but he’d not bothered to look further that year. Remus regretted that now. 

“What do you know about a SOUL resonance, Ms. Granger?” Remus asked in lieu of explaining the numerous questions his own inquiry probably brought up. 

Hermione frowned, then pursed her lips. She tried to think what that meant, but she’d not come across the phrase. She looked to Ron who only squeezed her shoulder in comfort. He didn’t seem at all confused by the terminology, merely resigned. Hermione swallowed heavily. 

“Nothing,” she said weakly. “I’ve never heard of it.” 

“I’m not surprised,” Remus sighed. “Most of the wizards and witches don’t bother to educate Muggleborns like you on it.” He carefully stacked the bits of bone he sliced off on the bedside and tilted his head up toward the ceiling. “It used to be rather well known, but we’ve begun to move away from it. Old practices and terms like resonance, echoes, feedback…they’re slowly being removed from the general populace.” 

“They’d probably remove synthesis from general knowledge too if it didn’t happen so often,” Ron said grimly. Hermione looked practically affronted at that, and glanced between Remus and Ron. 

“How do you know?” she questioned. Ron shot her this sort of incredulous look. 

“I come from an old family, Hermione,” Ron said cautiously. “We might be outcasts, but there are some things you just don’t leave behind. Knowledge about SOUL bonding, resonance, echoes and synthesis? About SOUL orientation? They’re a big part of our history, of who we used to be. We might not have the power of the old Mage’s, but we’re still of Mage blood. It’s cultural. I mean yeah we’re removing it from the public with the more Muggleborns that enter our world, and yeah a lot of the older crowd dislikes the idea of sharing our culture but it’s still _ours_. It’s still _yours_.” Ron huffed tiredly. “Dad’s not well liked because he thinks this whole secrecy bit is gonna bite us back bad. The Weasley’s and the Prewett’s have always been against the isolationist ideology and it’s…backfired on us.” 

Ron tugged his arm from around Hermione and placed his elbows on his knees. He nudged her with his shoulder and leaned forward. 

“Listen to Remus,” Ron said exhaustedly. “Let him explain. I don’t even know the full scope but…I knew this didn’t sound like a synthesis or a bonding. It never felt like it, not properly at least.” 

Hermione looked to Remus who sighed. 

“He’s right,” Remus said. “This is what we call an amalgam. It’s like a bonding, which is something only Mage’s can experience. A bonding is where a SOUL comes into the world with near enough or exact resonance with a SOUL that came before.” 

Hermione blinked. “Reincarnation?” she asked, curious. 

“Of a sort,” Remus said grimly. “You know that Mage souls can PERSIST. That it can last decades to hundreds or even thousands of years. When there are echoes, shards of a SOUL left behind that hasn’t come together, or that can’t, and someone is born with that—frequency, for lack of a better term—the shards bond to the new SOUL.” Remus glanced to Harry. “The memories are fragmented, almost forgotten, but in the long run the SOUL can…revive itself. Become new. Remember.” 

“So Harry’s…he’s got this bonding going on then?” Hermione asked cautiously. “From some Mage from the war?” 

Remus shook his head. “No,” he said shortly. “He isn’t bonded to anything. He’s…amalgamated.” 

Hermione pursed her lips. “But that…” 

“It isn’t something Mage souls can do,” Remus continued cautiously. “In fact you see it more commonly in half-breeds…or in Boss Monsters.” Hermione stilled. 

“Oooh, we got to the fun part,” Tonks cheered lightly. She entered toward the last sentence there, and even if she missed the rest she already knew what Remus talked about. With care Tonks bent over Harry to hand Remus the bottle of skelegrow. “Three drops, Remus,” she said carefully. “I don’t want to think what any more than that can do with how…volatile he is right now.” 

“It wasn’t a happy memory,” Remus murmured sadly. “I’m not surprised.” 

“I’ll pick up story time,” Tonks moved around the bed and settled down on the edge. She crossed her legs and let Remus get to work tending to the young boy-who-lived. “See all the people in charge want you to think that all the Monster’s got sealed up. Thing is? They kind of didn’t?” Tonks gave them a sharp, wide smile. “In fact a lot of Monster’s survived for many years after the Barrier raised. Oh, yeah, most of ‘em are gone now, but there’s still a few of… _us_ …left.” 

Hermione blinked, and tried to formulate a response to that. Tonks leaned forward with a wide smile. 

“You wouldn’t know it but quite a few of those prized old families hold a dark, dark secret, you see?” Tonks said cheerfully. “Some of them happen to have Monster in their history. I don’t mean like Veela, who are close cousins, or Merpeople or Goblins. But real, live _Monster_. It kind of twists the SOUL when you’re a baby. Not quite Mage, not quite Monster—a half breed.” Tonks pierced them both with a sharp gaze. “These families with Monster in them? Not every child gets to inherit the magic, and then some children get more than most. Some come out more _Monster_ than others.” 

“Like you,” Ron said, and it clicked. “Like…Harry.” 

Tonks nodded grimly. 

“Then there are cases like Remus,” she nodded toward the werewolf. “A Monster curse that, in a way, infects the very soul…more Mage that Monster, werewolves are. Except a few who lean more Monster than Mage, but that’s rare.” 

“I’m not one of those,” Remus said dryly, to quell the expected and immediate response. 

“But I thought lycanthropy acted more like a disease instead of a curse?” Hermione perked up at the sudden insight into Remus’ condition.

“Nope!” Tonks said cheerfully. “It’s a curse; a soul curse yeah, and an infection in its own way, but without magic it couldn’t survive or take. Werewolves that suffer the Dementors kiss no longer change, y’see? So, ergo, not a physical type of infection. A magical one.” 

“Dementors don’t take the magic, though,” Hermione pointed out slowly. 

“A lie,” Remus breathed out heavily. “A…necessary, one. If the populace even knew, remotely, what Dementors really _were_ ….” He shook his head. “A story for another time. All done, Tonks.” 

Tonks leaned back and peered at Harry’s face. She noted where Remus bandaged wounds and how he’d carefully wrapped Harry’s hands. He looked more peaceful now, at least, which meant whatever caused the resonance—whichever memory sprung up—was over now. Tonks breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe his magic would chill out now. 

Remus stood up and brushed off his pants. “You can’t tell anyone,” he said calmly. “If _anyone_ were to discover that Harry came from a line of half breeds—of _Monster_ …” Remus grimaced. “Well. You’ve kept quiet so far, so you have some idea.” He looked at them. “Still, don’t share this with anyone. Harry trusts you, and that? That means a lot.” 

“Given _who_ he bloody damn well is,” Tonks snorted, and then laughed at the shocked looks on the teens faces. “I mean, yeah, ‘course he’d trust you two. You’re his best mates!” 

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, and then shrugged. 

“Anyway, let the brat get some rest,” Tonks stood. “We’ll come check on him later. If he wakes up before the skelegrow finishes grab Remus or me, ok?” She gave them a sunny smile, wrapped her arms around one of Remus’ own, and tugged him from the room without another word. 

Ron and Hermione exchanged another glance, then sighed. 

“So…I was _really_ wrong, wasn’t I?” Hermione leaned her head onto Ron’s shoulder. She stared at Harry. 

“You didn’t know,” Ron replied. “I didn’t share it with you.” 

Hermione hummed in thought, then sighed. It didn’t matter; the principle of the thing remained the same. Help Harry out, some strange sort of reincarnated Monster SOUL or not. It didn’t matter at all in the end, he was still their best friend. Still their crazy, insanely powerful best friend. They’d help him best they could, and now they knew they had reinforcements if things ever went sideways like this again. 

“I didn’t know he could do that to himself,” Hermione said sadly. 

“Yeah.” 

She looked up at Ron. “We’ll protect him, right?” 

Ron nodded, lips pressed together. “Always,” Ron said; promised. Hermione nodded her head too. 

“Always,” she murmured. “No matter what.”


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weight of the world upon a pair of shoulders. Something gives, something breaks, and the question remains: what do we do now?

Harry woke up groggy. He groaned softly; his whole body felt stiff, parts of it throbbed including his head. He blinked his eyes and tried to focus on the world around him. Carefully Harry moved to sit up and hissed between his teeth when he placed his hands down to push up. They burned with a sudden intensity that felt almost familiar. He leaned forward and glanced around the room beneath the fringe of his hair. Everything felt slightly off.

It took blinking again for Harry to realize why. He touched a hand to his face and felt gauze wrapped tightly around the right side, completely covering his eye. He didn’t even have his glasses on, and yet his left eye could still see with clearly even. Another light touch revealed bandages wrapped around his cheek as well. He glanced down at his hands and saw that even his palms were wrapped tightly. It took Harry a second to remember what happened, how he got to the point of _this_ , but when he did his head instantly whipped around to search out Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

Hermione and Ron were curled up on Ron’s bed. Both were passed out asleep, breathing calm, and Harry relaxed just the slightest bit. Neither Ron nor Hermione seemed worried, and while he couldn’t see Ginny their relaxed nature let his worries rest. Instead Harry glanced back around the room to take in what he could. He saw Tonks passed out against the door. Her hair shone shockingly green, much like the same shade as her own soul. Harry wondered if the green happened to be her natural shade. Did a metamorphagus revert to their natural state in their sleep?

Mentally the young wizard tallied his questions into a clipboard and store them away to be reviewed later. For now he needed to take in the room as a whole. He continued to search it, to find out what happened, or maybe some sort of clue toward what happened. His gaze next slipped to Remus who, unlike the others, happened to be awake. It took Harry a second to parse what the bright golden glow to Remus’ eyes could’ve meant, and when he did he paled.

“P-Professor?” Harry didn’t quite squeak, but he did feel a bit faint. He worked so hard to keep others aside from Ron and Hermione from finding out, and while Remus _hinted_ that he knew something Harry still liked to believe he didn’t.

Remus sighed. His eyes slid half-closed, but their bright golden glow remained a bit unnerving. “You gave me quite a scare, cub,” Remus said lightly and Harry could see his canines even responded to the obvious distress—the stood sharper, menacing.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

Remus sucked in a heavy breath. “What do you remember?” Remus countered instead. Harry frowned.

“Just…a haze,” Harry said after a moment’s silence. His visible eye gained a bit of distance as he tried to think back. “Hatred, fear, love…it’s all jumbled up.” He clenched his hands into fists and welcomed the sudden bite of pain that they brought. Harry, so lost in his thoughts, practically jumped when Remus finally laid a hand on his shoulder. He barely stopped himself from summoning a bone construct with a sharpened tip.

“Don’t force it, cub,” Remus said carefully. “It’ll come on its own.” Harry blinked and ducked his head down. “Now, you might want to stop pushing magic into your eye. While purple is a good color on you, it might worry the others.” Harry’s head jerked back up in shock. “Also it will delay your recovery. Your magic needs to heal you, cub,” Remus continued and got to his feet. He walked over toward Tonks and carefully shook her awake.

Harry watched the shock of green hair cycle through the rainbow before it settled onto pick—for a brief moment Tonks’ eyes even glowed the color of her SOUL—and then she yawned and got to her feet. Remus bent down and whispered something to her, and she blinked, and then nodded and slipped from the room silently.

Remus looked back to Harry and gave him a smile. “I’ll bring you up something to eat,” the werewolf said. “Food is good for the SOUL after all.”

* * *

 

Remus didn’t like when he mentioned food being good for the SOUL. Harry knew that relatively well enough, so when he ate the food Remus brought up and tasted the _magic_ in its very creation he shoveled it into his mouth as quickly as possible. He didn’t question the fact that the food obviously had magical origins; most of the food Harry made himself held some bit of magic in their make-up. 

It didn’t take more than an hour before the food went to work and eased away the most of his aches and pains. By that point Ron and Hermione finally woke up and Remus gently removed the bandages from around Harry’s hands. Harry curiously flexed his fingers and moved his wrists around, staring at his palms in undisguised curiosity. He stroked a finger down the small indentation and pressed—he could feel flesh and tendons in the place of bone.

Ron and Hermione stumbled into wakefulness while Harry moved his fingers and tested their dexterity in surprise. They both noticed the brightly glowing purple eye barely hidden from beneath his fringe of hair while Harry tested the area around the scars. Completely unaware Harry didn’t notice he’d summoned a bone pencil and construct to take notes down in his notebook next to him.

“Mate, your eyes _glowing_ ,” Ron said. Hermione smacked him in the head just as Harry jerked his head in their direction in surprise. Ron yelped, rubbed at his head, and mumbled ‘what was _that_ for?!’ under his breathe.

“I know,” Harry said slowly. “Professor Lupin mentioned it.”

“Remus,” Remus corrected calmly and tugged Harry’s head over so that he could undo the bandages around the teen’s cheek. “Or if you’d prefer, Moony. Either works just as well.”

“Moony,” Harry murmured, and it seemed to spark something given the way the construct fizzled for a moment.

“There we go,” Remus said, and inspected the place where the bandage rested. “Hm, it’ll be a little concave, but unless anyone’s looking they won’t notice. Looks like your magic did good there, cub.”

“It always does,” Harry replied blandly.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth for a moment, and then she spoke up tentatively as Remus moved around the bed to work easing away the bandages that covered the right side of Harry’s face.

“But _why_ is it glowing?” Hermione asked. “Why _purple?_ ”

“Probably because of this,” Remus lightly tapped against the bandage and watched as Harry flinched a bit. “His magic is compensating for the lack of complete sight right now.” Remus edged the last piece of bandage down to look at Harry’s eye and pressed his lips together. He leaned down and carefully moved a finger back and forth, up and down in front of the eye. 

Harry tracked the finger, and mentally tracked Ron and Hermione who watched from the other bed with undisguised worry and curiousity.

“Not bad,” Remus said softly. “You’ll probably always have a bit of a glow there.”

Harry’s gaze darted up to Remus’ face.

“It’s…” Harry started slowly and the floundered for the words.

“Damaged, yes,” Remus said tiredly. He began to rewrap the bandage back around Harry’s head. Calmly he infused small bits of green _KINDNESS_ to urge healing. It soaked into the bandages and gave them a faint grin tinge. “We’ll leave this on for a day, and then you can take it off. I’d suggest avoiding anyone if you don’t want awkward questions, cub.”

Harry sighed, slightly annoyed with the fact that the bandage needed to remain on, but he focused back on his hands and the way he could make delicate shapes.

“Does that mean Harry won’t see so well out of his right eye?” Hermione asked just when Tonks stepped back into the room with a tray of more food. Ron scrambled off of the bed to grab some of the pasties and Tonks piled up a discarded plate on Harry’s bedside table.

“I’ve never seen so good out of my right eye, ‘Mione,” Harry said, and he turned his head toward her with a slight look of confusion. “My vision hasn’t changed.”

“His eyelid might droop a bit more,” Remus said and took the plate from Tonks to set it down on Harry’s lap, “and there’ll be the faintest of a glow to his eye. Other than that he should be fine.”

It took Hermione a minute more to put together that Harry _always_ had trouble with his right side. She’d known that somewhat, but it never truly registered why Harry had such problems with his right eye, or his right hand. Now though it made sense, and in a way it meant nothing really changed. Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief.

Ron dropped a plate into her lap, a mouthful of pasty shoved into his face. “Eat up,” he said, just barely not grossing Hermione out in the process considering the half-chewed food in his mouth. They ate in mostly silence. Harry even accepted another plate from Tonks although he mostly nibbled on the food instead of stuffing his face like earlier.

For a while they ate in silence while Tonks picked up Harry’s hands and looked them over. She huffed faintly when she realized the bones didn’t actually regrow. She muttered something that nobody but Remus could hear, given the way the werewolf snorted.

“Did you honestly expect anything different?” Remus said and took another bite of food when Tonks shot him a glare. “At least he can still _use_ them.”

Harry glanced between Remus and Tonks with his head tilted to the side in curiosity. He didn’t pay much attention to their words; instead Harry watched the way their SOULs seemed to sync and beat together. He’d seen this before once, Harry felt certain of it, but he couldn’t put to mind where or even what it meant. With a sigh Harry pulled his mind back and looked around the room.

Again the teenager felt struck that Ginny wasn’t anywhere in sight. Did he imagine her screaming then? He tried to push the thought out of his head, except that scream tore at him in a way that hurt. It felt like a familiar terror burst through his chest, followed by sadness and regret.

_“No, no, no, **DAD!** ”_

Harry sighed and shook his head clear of the cobwebs.

“Is Ginny alright?” Hermione asked as she got up and set her and Ron’s empty plates onto the tray.

“She’s fine,” Tonks agreed calmly. “Remus’ charm did its work.”

Harry’s gaze shot to Remus in surprise.

“Charm?” he asked. “What charm?” His hands clenched at his side. If they’d hurt her just because she’d _seen_ —Harry jerked when Ron placed a hand on his shoulder. He stared, glowing purple gaze right into Ron’s sharp, honeyed eyes.

“I asked him to,” Ron said. “Ginny…it’s better if she doesn’t remember this.” Harry paled. His hands shook.

“It’s not forgetting,” Remus spoke up, reading the sudden surge of panic that not even Harry understood where it stemmed from. “It’s a…barrier.”

“That’s not better,” Harry said through clenched teeth, his hands practically tore at the blankets that he clenched tightly. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

“A very flimsy barrier,” Tonks piped up and promptly plunked herself down onto the bed. She practically leaned up into Harry’s space, forced the teen to lean back and grinned up at him with a wide smile. “It only ensures she doesn’t actively think on it or seek it out. If you bring it up she’ll remember sure, but honestly d’you want her to see you broken and bloody like that?”

“It’s better she think of this as more like a nightmare,” Remus said. “It won’t last forever, cub. I swear.”

“…it’s her _mind_ ,” Harry breathed out and clenched his eyes shut.

“It’s your _secrets_ ,” Ron pointed out. “Besides, she’s _my sister_. If I thought for one moment that they’d hurt her do you think I would’ve agreed to it? That I would’ve asked?”

Harry sucked in a breath, and like that he began to unclench his hands. Hermione wrapped him up in a hug and Ron shooed Tonks off the bed and wrapped himself around Harry’s other side. Together the two teens helped calm the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him in moments like this.

Tonks and Remus exchanged a glance, and then slipped out of the room.

* * *

 

Tonks shut the door to Remus’ room behind her and tugged the lock closed. She kept her back against the door, her gaze sharp on Remus as he growled and paced the room. When the final click of the lock snapped into place Remus lashed out against the bedroom wall. He gouged several long gashes into the wallpaper that Tonks promptly repaired with a short wave of her wand. 

“You done?” Tonks asked dryly. Remus whirled around to face her, teeth clenched and breathing heavy.

“You saw that,” Remus snapped. “You _saw it!_ ”

Tonks sighed. Remus watched her fold in on herself against the door, and then slip down until she settled against the ground. She tugged her knees up and wrapped her hands around them.

“How could I not?” she whispered. “Remus….”

Remus explosively sat himself down onto the edge of the bed. He wrapped his hands around his face, around his head and dug his nails into his scalp with a shuddering breath. He focused on calming the beast within, on calming the intensity of his own emotions. Remus breathed slowly, and then relaxed into Tonks’ hold when she climbed onto the bed and wrapped her arms around him.

“What do we do?” Remus asked hoarsely. He leaned his head against her shoulder, closed his eyes and let his hands clasp at hers.

“What we’ve always done,” Tonks said softly. She pressed her cheek against his chin. “We protect them.”

Remus opened his eyes to stare up at the canopy of the bed. He raised one hand and stared at the bright golden claws that tipped his fingers with a golden gaze. His eyes slipped over to Tonks whose hair lain limp and bright green. Tonks stared down at him, her own eyes alight.

“We protect them,” Tonks said. “Like we’ve protected all the others. Like we’ve done, because he asked us to. Because _they_ asked us to.”

Remus reached up and cupped her cheek. He stared at her, face a mix of torture and hope.

“What have we become?” he asked. “What have we done to ourselves to achieve this? How much more will we lose? How many more do we have to watch just….”

“As long as it takes,” Tonks pressed a kiss to his cheek. “As long as it takes, my wolf.”


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magical abilities and severely magical saturated areas don't mix. Darkness desires to consume and fear threatens to overwhelm. Thankfully a radish has an answer.

Harry stepped onto the platform for the Hogwarts Express and almost physically flinched back as soon as he did so. Stepping into the Ministry built up a migraine and a half, certainly—the surrounding obviously magical area full of Mage SOULs that just wouldn’t stay still granted on his senses. Not even the weeks spent at Grimmauld place and the multiple adolescents could prepare Harry for the sheer number of untrained Mages whose magic sparked and twitched like some sort of uncontained _thing_.

Remus placed one hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Focus on something small,” Remus said softly. “A single point. See it. Visualize it. Keep your focus there and let everything else fall to the wayside.”

Harry sucked in a breath and focused on a single point. His gaze sharpened beneath his glasses, the faintest of a purple glow raised in intensity on his right eye as he snapped his attention to one SOUL that stood out among the millions of others. It looked like a flash of _arctic_ , ice cold in its brilliantness, almost blinding in its shimmering shine. Out of all the other SOULs this one rested, calmly. It didn’t bounce agitatedly, it didn’t flash with magic uncontained. It felt restrained, patient, waiting.

“You okay there Harry?” Hermione asked, shifting into his view for a second.

“Y-yeah,” Harry nodded, tightened his grip on Headwig’s cage and upon his own trunk. “I’m good.”

Ron frowned at him lightly from his other side, and then glanced to Hermione. They nodded.

“We’ll meet you in the compartment later, mate. ‘Mione and I’ve got a Prefect’s meeting to attend.”

Harry snorted at the face Ron pulled and gave his friend a slightly strained grin.

“Don’t punch Malfoy without me there,” Harry said teasingly.

“Shouldn’t you be telling ‘Mione that?” Ron looked askance, and Hermione thwapped him up the side of the head. With laughter ringing behind him Harry waved to his friends and started toward the Express. He kept his focus on that one, brightly shining SOUL. He didn’t even notice the bright carmine crimson that nestled at Remus’ side and watched him leave sadly.

Ron and Hermione glanced to Remus who nudged them onward, kept one hand tightly wound into Padfoot’s fur. They exchanged a look, shrugged, and darted to get to the Hogwarts Express themselves. As soon as the children were out of sight Remus turned and tugged Padfoot with him. He led the animagus over to a shadowed corner and knelt down to stare at the soulful eyes of his good friend.

“Give it time, Sirius,” Remus said softly. He stroked a hand down Padfoot’s head and scratched behind the ears. “It’s fresh for him.”

Sirius hung his head, tugged his ears back and let out a soft whine. Remus sighed, patted the dog on the head, and started to lead the animagus away from the platform. They couldn’t linger here anymore, especially not with the way Sirius kept glancing longingly back toward the train itself. He’d pay for letting Sirius out to see Harry off in fielding the man’s escape attempts for days to come, but the werewolf reminded himself that this in the end was for the best.

* * *

 

Harry followed the arctic SOUL all the way to a compartment where Neville sat going over the most recent plant he’d received as a gift. The girl to whom the arctic SOUL belonged to held up a magazine, the Quibbler Harry noted, completely upside down. For a moment Harry stood in the doorway and just stared into the entrance of the compartment.

“I don’t mind,” Luna spoke up calmly and Harry’s attention snapped into focus. He could see her staring at him with similarly unnerving eyes framed with raddish earrings and homemade glasses. She gave him a smile.

“Er…” Harry stuttered, then decided to just roll with it and calmly tugged his trunk into the compartment. Neville got up and helped him shove the heavy thing onto the luggage carriage overhead, and Harry settled Hedwig’s cage next to Neville’s plant.

“How was your Summer, Harry?” Neville asked.

“Interesting,” Harry mumbled and settled down next to Neville. He tried to keep from staring at Luna, but honestly he couldn’t quite help it. He knew the young Ravenclaw peripherally, but this happened to be his first time seeing her SOUL.

“Interesting?” Neville leaned back, and Harry noted how at ease the teen became over the summer holidays. He also took note of the lime green intermixed with fire-bright orange that made up Neville’s SOUL with a slight dazed confusion. He’d had the thought of _what an unusual combination_ before he shook it from his thoughts.

“I got accused of casting a spell over the summer,” Harry shrugged.

“Rather silly of them,” Luna agreed with a hum. “But then they seemed to have let the wrackspurts dally in their thoughts.”

“Yeah, they didn’t quite seem to like it when I made a point that my wand had no signs of spells cast since _school_ ,” Harry drawled, quite pleased with himself. After all they counted magic as that cast with a wand; what Harry did…honestly he didn’t know what he did exactly. It felt like magic, but it felt rawer in some form.

Harry glanced down at his hands, rubbed circles on the gloves that covered his palms in thought. The magic of that moment felt a lot like the magic that tore through flesh and blood and bone. Even know his leg twinged where the bone broke, and his ribs on occasion gave a mental throb of a reminder to how damaged they’d been. His palms burned, and his face hurt in ways that Harry didn’t know it could.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” Luna spoke up and Harry glanced toward her.

“What is?” Harry asked.

“How magic effects a physical form of ninety percent water,” Luna told him, and for a moment Harry could swear her smile seemed sharper. Her eyes focused with an almost laser like intensity, and the hazed back over.

“Yes,” Harry murmured. “Interesting….”

They never did quite get around to studying how magic bothered to handle things with Mages. Did the SOUL compensate an injury like it did with a Monster? Harry twisted his hand in front of himself and watched the sinew and muscle twitch in the circular scar. Could this be considered a normal reaction, or another sign of the wonderful fact that Harry broke all laws of magic from just existing?

“I wouldn’t think too hard on it right now,” Luna hummed sweetly. “It’ll just attract the wrackspurts attention and the nargles will have a field day with all of the glubberfluff your magic’ll put out to try and ward them off. They eat the glubberfluff you know.”

“They do?” Harry looked rather intrigued, not at all concerned about the names of the beasts Luna rattled off.

Luna leaned over and patted Harry on the cheek with a wide smile. “It’s alright my dear elegant agate—that clouded sky will clear and then those without script will find the purple stars once more.” Harry opened his mouth, but then Luna leaned in close and pressed her lips to his ear. Neither noticed the way Neville’s eyes narrowed at them from the other corner of the compartment.

_Be wary, pica of patience, of the darkness that consumes the nothingness—of the blacker than black ink that devours all things at the end of time and the marks it carves into the cracks in the space of the universe._

Luna settled back down into her seat and pulled up her edition of the Quibbler with a faint hum. Her radish earrings swayed light as she crossed her legs and leaned back. Harry watched her, wary like a hawk, utterly befuddled from the cryptic and roundabout form of speech. Its familiarity stung at him in a way he couldn’t understand—his very SOUL _ached_.

“SO!” Neville spoke up loudly and Harry snapped his head over to the other teen. “Where’s Ron and Hermione? You’re almost never without either of them with you at some point.”

“They were made Prefect,” Harry shrugged, “so they’ve got some sort of meeting.”

“Ron?” Neville’s jaw fell open and Harry looked at Neville with a quizzically raised brow.

“Yes?”

“ _Prefect?_ ” Neville almost squeaked.

“That’s…what I said, isn’t it?” Harry couldn’t understand. Everyone so far seemed utterly surprised at Ron being named Prefect. It made perfect sense to him—Ron could handle the responsibility easily enough as he’d proven over the years. Ron barely even acted prejudiced against any of the other Houses, helping the lower years in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff if need be. He could calculate exactly what to say to diffuse a situation just as easily as he could rile it up. Sure the boy had flaws, but so did everyone in the end.

“It just…I would’ve thought _you_ —” Neville cut himself off when Harry gave him a look of uncomprehending horror and shock.

“ _Me?_ ” Harry leaned back and looked Neville up and down. Neville…I’m the _worst_ option and I _know it_.”

Neville started to object, paused, and then just shook his head. He looked over his plant that he’d carted into the compartment when he entered, and mused aloud on if Harry even knew when the meeting planned to end. He didn’t, of course, but then Neville didn’t expect him to. He doubted even Ron and Hermione knew when it would end.

“A confused pet will visit and we will know,” Luna said brightly and both boys glanced at her. They shook their heads and Neville fished around in his robes.

“Exploding snap?” the young Longbottom asked.

“Sure,” Harry agreed.

* * *

 

Stepping out of the Hogwarts Express appeared to be Harry’s first mistake. If he thought stepping onto the Platform had been a mess of his senses, the minute he stepped off the Hogwarts Express it felt like being hit with a freight train of magical overload. Not even attempting to focus on just Luna’s brilliant SOUL stopped the sudden wave of nausea that threatened to overrun him.

Harry stumbled, one hand raised up to his head with a sudden hiss of pain. His glasses ended up knocked askew as he crashed into Neville, and then into Ron. Hermione and Luna grabbed to steady him—it felt like his eyes were on _fire_. His hands itched and his head _throbbed_ with never-ending pain. He felt like in a moment he’d shatter into pieces, into dust to be scattered across everything and anything.

“H-Harry?!”

The voices sounded distant, lost in some sort of void between here and _there_. To protect himself a part of Harry just snapped and shut down. His vision completely blacked out, his breath came into sharp sudden pants of overwhelming _fear_. He couldn’t sense a SOUL near him; nothing but the void remained and it surrounded him, overtook him, _demanded and clawed and crawled into his skin and into his eyes and his mouth and his hands and—_

“HARRY!”

Harry snapped forward suddenly, eyes lit up bright purple. He hung between Neville and Ron’s arms who struggled to keep him upright when he’d quite suddenly just collapsed. Dazed his eyes darted over to Hermione, and then to Luna, the bright purple glow completely overtaking his normally green eyes. Harry groaned, and let his eyes slid shut. The way the magic moved made him want to hurl.

“I’m…here,” Harry rasped out, and tried to right himself, but the ground felt weirdly unstable. It shifted like sand beneath his feet.

Hermione wrung her hands together and shared a glance with Ron.

“M-Maybe we should get a Professor?” Hermione asked tentatively. Neither she, Ron, nor Harry anticipated something like this.

Harry twitched, a snarl crossed his face at the thought of a _professor_ —an action that Hermione and Ron noticed with worry, since Harry never quite responded in such a manner before. They exchanged a glance, Ron opened his mouth, but then Luna knelt down and lifted Harry’s head up until she stared him right in his dazed, half-lidded eyes.

“We won’t get the buzzing bee,” Luna crooned. “It’s okay.” She patted his cheek, reached up for one of her raddish earrings, and then performed a simple charm to pierce Harry’s here. “Here you go.” She slipped the earring onto Harry’s ear and suddenly everything felt _muted_.

Harry sucked in a steadying breath and tried to pull himself upward, into something that seemed more stable. Ron and Hermione hovered nearby, Neville glanced between the four of them warily. He’d been silent, and Harry’s bright purple gaze glanced to him out of the corner of his eye, assessing. Neville raised one hand, a single gesture, that stopped the suspicion cold.

“You might want to charm his eyes,” Neville said cautiously. When Ron and Hermione looked his way he just grimaced. “He’s not the first to be overwhelmed like that,” Neville said by way of explanation. “It used to be more common.” Neville hunched down into his robes and watched as Ron and Hermione quickly cast a few charms over Harry’s eyes to mask the purple glow.

“Thank you,” Harry rasped out. “I didn’t….”

Luna laughed. She patted Harry’s cheek and wrapped her arm around Neville’s elbow. Now that the others were actually looking they could see a subtle glow to her eyes as well; Harry saw it like a blinding light, the same shade as her SOUL, but the light didn’t hurt or taste like magic. It felt like looking through a warped lens, actually—a place where he could observe the effects but not feel it. It made him a bit whoozy.

“Of course you didn’t, silly,” Luna smiled sweetly. “It’s alright.” She turned to Ron and Hermione, face suddenly very serious. “It’s only a stopgap, and not a good one.” Unsaid went _not for him_ between them. Hermione nibbled at her lip and wondered just how much Luna already knew, and how much Neville potentially knew as well given how hard he held on to her.

“Got it,” Hermione said carefully while Ron made sure Harry could even walk.

“I’m… _fine_ ,” Harry groaned.

“You look like you’re about to hurl, mate,” Ron huffed.

Harry winced. “Don’t say that please.” He paused, then added, “Fuck I have to be in the Great Hall.” The thought of food, the smell of food, made Harry slightly faint. Even with the magical artifact muting the presence of Hogwarts he still felt disoriented from all the way out here. Harry really didn’t want to contemplate how he’d respond to being _inside_ the magically saturated building. Stars he hadn’t felt this sick since he was a babybones.

Exhaustedly Harry leaned against Ron and Hermione took up position on his other side. Together the trio made their way warily up to Hogwarts proper with Neville and Luna. For tonight there wasn’t much anyone could do, although Ron and Hermione vowed to send a letter off first thing to Remus to request assistance. Someone, somewhere, had to know what to do. Hadn’t they?


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plots in the shadows desire to condemn. Friends and allies search for a solution. The situation grows dire, or perhaps in favor?

Albus Dumbledore noticed something wrong with his favorite  _tool_  almost immediately that day in the Ministry. The way Harry sat in the chair, poised and collected, made the aged Headmaster want to grind his teeth in frustration. Beneath the veneer of human skin rested the  _beast_  that’d stolen the boy. For once Albus worried about Harry, about the boy he’d worked so hard to create—to change from the  _thing_  that hid within his very SOUL.

To see flashes of the creature there in the Ministry, Albus began to gather together his plans and theories. He began to hoard his information close and planted as many spies within Grimmauld as he could. He tasked Molly to bother her children into reporting anything worthwhile. Perhaps young Harry found himself attached with a synthesis of some kind, Albus whispered. So far every report came back disgustingly normal for the child, which left Albus in a bit of a conundrum.

Logically the signs were there. Albus couldn’t see  _where_  specifically they rested, but the glimpse he saw of it let him know that his careful plans to save the young Harry he’d made began to fall apart. He couldn’t be certain when it happened—perhaps the graveyard? Perhaps Tom discovered the secret nestled within the poor child and figured that he could use the abomination to his advantage? Whatever the reason Albus chose to keep a closer eye on things, to look for any other potential signs that he needed to be aware of.

Of course throughout the rest of his stay at Grimmauld Harry displayed nothing else that came off as concerning, so Albus bid his time and waited. It paid off by the time the boy arrived at Hogwarts itself, carefully framed between his friends. He looked dazed, and Albus could see the faint film around the boy’s eyes—an obvious sign of magic having been cast. Albus wondered if his friends knew about the glamor covering Harry’s vision, or if they preferred to focus on the fact that Harry appareed unfocused.

Albus kept a subtle eye on the boy throughout the whole feast. He tracked the way Granger and Weasley tried to get Harry to focus, in how they exchanged concerns glances with the young Longbottom heir. Neither of them seemed to be aware of anything specific aside from the fact that Harry seemed to be suffering. Albus narrowed his gaze in thought; he figured the very magical nature of Hogwarts might disturb the thing back when the boy turned eleven, but he felt relieved when nothing happened. Now that it’d become more aware of course it made sense that it’d get some sort of reaction.

Well, Albus leaned back as Madam Umbridge made her speech, he’d just have to be sure he kept things under control. He couldn’t let the creature gain any further of a foothold than it already had, and knowing how Granger and Weasley worked they’d obviously seek help from Harry’s godfather first and foremost. He’d have to find a way to work around that, obviously enough. He couldn’t let Sirius learn of this; that’d ask for no end of trouble. As soon as he gathered the chance Albus got to his feet, thanked Umbridge, and set the children off to bed distractedly. This year brought plenty of changes to face; the least of which included Umbridge and Fudge’s attempts to interfere in his school.

He pondered on the problem for several long minutes even after he finally made his way up to his office. Perhaps, Albus figured, a stricter response to the synthesis that plagued the school wouldn’t be remiss. It’d certainly help the children in the long run, and while the disturbances were Hogwarts’ oft kept secret, and its worst at that, with Umbridge on the loose Albus expected the numbers to rise. The toad of a woman embodied much of what the left behind remnants of the dead fought against after all. Beyond that Albus figured he could let the woman run amuck a bit herself. While it’d be regrettable that the children could come under the fire of the woman’s crusade whatever she and Fudge planned might inevitably help him regain some control over the beast that slept within young Harry.

* * *

 

The longer Harry stood inside Hogwarts the more distant everything became. He couldn’t taste the food, he couldn’t feel the wood of the table beneath his fingers, he could barely hear the words his friends spoke. Everything looked to be covered in a faint film that muted the colors into something bland. The only thing he felt, that subtle shiver of magic through his limbs, didn’t even get the chance to linger. Walking and focusing became harder, and a part of Harry knew that this response to the magic dampening of the radish bordered on extreme.

The more muted things became, the more Harry wished his magic didn’t try to help. It amplified the effects, and in some ways that made things better. Harry didn’t find himself suffering from a severe sensory overload. In other ways, though, it just made things worse. Harry couldn’t walk without either someone helping, or staring down at his feet. He couldn’t tell the changes of temperature anymore, and given the fact that he couldn’t feel the stonework under his fingers Harry doubted he’d be able to tell if he even cut himself.

Ron and Hermione, with Neville’s help, worked to get Harry up to the dorms, and then into bed. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances and whispers while Neville gave every one of the other Gryffindor boys sharp looks.

“What’s wrong with Potter?” Dean questioned quietly from beside Seamus. The two boys glanced to Ron and Hermione whose whispers grew gradually harsher. Hermione seemed to be getting physical with her emphatic hisses, and Ron seemed to grow colder.

Neville scrubbed a hand down his face.

“I don’t know,” the young teenager sighed. “It looks like a magical feedback.” Dean and Seamus frowned and looked at Neville very confused.

“Erm, mate, what’s that?” Seamus asked hesitantly and Neville blinked. It took him a minute to realize that neither of the boys might know the intricate details that all purebloods are raised on. He pinked.

“Oh. Uhm.” Neville floundered for a moment. “It’s…hard to explain.” He bit his lip to think on how best to paraphrase it, and then sighed. “Sometimes there’s…magically altering events.” Neville frowned and stared down at his hands. “Things that stick with you, that…that change you in some ways.”

Distantly Neville could hear his parents screaming. He took a shuddering breath.

“In some cases,” Neville continued, then paused, “in most cases you get…sensitive…to magic.” He glanced over to Harry who’d, the minute Ron and Hermione set him down, conked right out. Neville could  _see_  the faint purple glow surrounding the other teen, and the way Harry laid oddly still. It reminded him of some of the old tales—of jealous monsters that enchanted beautiful young mages into a permanent sleep. Neville looked back to Dean and Seamus. “It’s rude to ask,” Neville continued softly, “and everyone is effected differently. He’s got the signs.”

Dean and Seamus looked completely baffled. Seamus looked down at his hands, a contemplative look crossing his face while Dean glanced to Harry, and then to Ron and Hermione. Hermione looked furious and Ron—Dean swallowed. Ron looked downright terrifying. Dean looked back to Neville.

“And…the glowing?” Dean asked in a whisper.

Neville grimaced. “That’s…” Neville closed his eyes. “That’s his magic. His orientation. It’s…also hard to explain.” And considered illegal to explain these days. Neville stared down at his hands and started when Ron clasped him on the shoulder. He glanced over to see Hermione slipping out of the room in a huff.

“Look, mates,” Ron said with a forced cheer that sent shivers down everyone’s spine. “We’ve got a hellish year coming, and we should all get some sleep. If you want to talk about all this, best to do it when there might not be ears listening.” His smile looked downright freezing. “Considering that we have an esteemed member of the government staying at our school….”

Neville sucked in a breath, and nodded slowly.

“Yes, Ron, you’re right. Thank you,” Neville shivered and gave Ron a strained smile. Ron patted his shoulder, glanced over the room, and then waved.

“I’ll be back later, gents. Got something to do.”

* * *

 

Ron hated it when he and Hermione fought over something like _this_. In part he hated it because it showed how little muggleborn’s actually knew, and how hard it was to explain the intricate details of a culture he’d grown up in. Ron kept his head down and hands shoved into his pockets as he shifted down the corridors and through the learned secret passageways over his years at Hogwarts. Getting into constant trouble and disturbing ‘adventures’ netted at least some perks, and then all of last year dealing with the slow shifts and changes in Harry too.

Before the mess with the Dementors in third year, before the strange things Harry began to say after that, Ron never would’ve imagined that he’d step deeper into the Taboo knowledge of magic orientation and the incredible feats Mages could perform utilizing the very power of the SOUL. Ron knew there were reasons why such magic fell out of favor, although no one really talked about the _why_. Like much of their culture and history that no one really spoke about, it just became a collective knowledge. Now Ron questioned that very _why_.

Now he _used_ that very Taboo. Ron kept his head ducked down, eyes bright galleon gold with his own SOUL’s orientation. Ron found that actively pulling upon his orientation like this provided some unique perks. He found himself able to sense a subtle hum of others around him—and a unique hum to the castle itself. He quickly began to categorize each different tone upon a scale; some people, like Snape, made a shrill shrieking that left Ron wary of the people around him. Others, like his own mother, reminded him of the comfort of homes.

Ron also found that, when he focused and could hear the hum, he could tell where others were near him. He could practically feel their intentions when they spoke, a faint vibration that triggered something primal within him. He hadn’t gotten so far as manipulating his orientation outside of his body beyond the humming yet, mostly because they spent all summer under the watchful eyes of the Order. At least in this instance it provided him some help in making his way to the Owlery.

Carefully Ron avoided the hallways with the teachers on patrol. He slipped into passageways and remained hidden until he could safely move back down the corridors. When he finally did reach the Owlery he found himself flocked by Pig and Hedwig, alone. Ron stroked along Hedwig’s feathers and snatched Pig out of the air.

“I’ve got to write something, so you lot be quiet,” Ron said, and gave Pig a stern glance that had the little owlet still. Ron dug into his pants and pulled out the ink, quill, and parchment he snagged out of one of the younger years dorm rooms. He dipped the quill into the ink pot and began to scribble a quick note.

Honestly Ron couldn’t understand why Hermione thought they had to deal with this on their own. Obviously they couldn’t do _anything_ like this. Harry’s very magic—his very _SOUL_ —was going haywire. They weren’t equipped enough to do anything with this, and there was no way they could go to one of the teachers. An amalgamation among wizards and witches was a death sign. If anyone came out with an orientation—with a _SOUL_ —that combined Monster and Human they were sent to the dementors with no questions asked. This being Harry Potter meant nothing; the rules and laws to their culture meant everything. No Monster could survive their world, not since the War. No Monster would be welcomed.

Ron carefully folded up his scribbled note and shifted over to one of the other owls. He picked one at random, not a school owl but definitely an owl that belonged to a student. Hedwig and Pig looked at him curiously.

“Hey,” Ron said softly. “I know you want to serve your partner and all, but I need to get this to someone quick without alerting people. It’s important. There’s a…a mage in the castle.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth, admitting it out loud where anyone could overhear. “A mage-master,” Ron amended weakly.

The owl cocked its head.

“I know, but…he’s my best friend,” Ron whispered. “And I don’t want him to get hurt. He’s not mean or anything and I—” The owl huffed, reached down and snatched up the letter with a sharp glare. “To Remus Lupin,” Ron swallowed heavily. “Quick as you please.”

The owl took off immediately and Ron breathed a sigh of relief. Hedwig darted forward and cuffed in him the head, nipped his ear, and flew off to give him a view of her back. Ron rubbed at his head and scowled. Pig followed her, twittering noises of upset.

“It’s important and I’m worried about being followed,” Ron hissed. “It’s for Harry, Hedwig. You wouldn’t want him to get hurt, right?” Hedwig glanced at him, sniffed, and turned away although she shuffled enough that her stance seemed less aggressive. “Thanks.”

Ron turned and slipped from the Owlery. He wondered how he’d get Hermione to see things his way, and then how to explain things to the boys in his dorm. For a moment he worried about Harry’s chances of even waking in the morning. The amount of magic surrounding him, and that sudden moment where his eyes seemed to be completely subsumed by the color of his SOUL just outside the train still frightened him.

“You better wake up, Harry,” Ron grumbled as he slipped down the hall. “Or I swear to Merlin….”

* * *

 

“Tra-la-la…don’t be afraid of the dark….”

They sat over the edge of their boat, shadowed feet dipped into the liquid black that surrounded them, and gently twisted about. From their hooded face they stared at the expanse of nothingness with an even darker twist of shadows and ichor that formed a cackling smile. Lazily they dragged one hand down through the water, then back up to watch the darkness drip from their fingers. They cupped their hands together and peered down at the few drops of liquid they contained.

Laughter, something more akin to hissing and spitting of a cat than any real creature’s laughter, escaped their lips and they leaned closer to the few drops, grin twisted up impossibly wide.

“Tra-la-la-la…” they sang sweetly, kicked their toes in the water, and flopped back into their boat. “Welcome back…” they stared up into the darkness, “…my darling majesty of magic.” They reached one hand up, fingers coated in liquid shadows, to touch gently at the shape of a flesh and blood cheek that hovered above them. They traced the cheekbones, watched as the skin and bone and blood faded away until familiar bone remained.

Fingers gripped at the cheekbones and they pulled themselves up. They pulled until they brushed the side of their face against his, and then pulled further until his forehead pressed against their clothed collarbone.

“Welcome home,” they sang, and ink dribbled down their chin as they positively cackled. They shifted their fingers to curl around the back of the skull, pulled until their very form twisted around the unconscious skeleton.

The world tilted and turned until they sat upon a facsimile of a ground, kneeling over the slumbering skeleton and peering down at his hollow eye sockets with a positively wicked look across their shadowed face. They leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to the front of his mandible, and breathed out in their lilting voice, “Oh darling _Aster_ , welcome back _home_.” Their fingers dug into the bone and their wicked look turned practically cruel. “Welcome back to the _void_.”

With a twist, a flutter of fabric that settled across his skeletal frame, they vanished into the blackness. Their form molded as if to become one with the void around them. The clothes they normally wore around the liquid shadows and ichor-ink that made up their form settled across his shape like a blanket to keep him warm from some sort of nonexistent chill. They settled themselves into their surroundings to watch. Moments like this, moments with Aster here like this, were rare and so lovingly few between. They quite missed spending some quality time with him, here in the darkness. They hissed and spit and cackled like static.

“Tra-la-la-la…be careful not to swallow all of reality again, dashing Aster….”

* * *

 

Remus groaned and rolled over in his bed. He couldn’t be sure what awoke him, only that his chest throbbed in a way that made him wonder if he ate something that his body disagreed with. Exhaustedly he rubbed at his chest and sat up. The covers slipped from him while he moved. Behind him Tonks mumbled incoherently and shifted, and for a moment Remus got a good look at her bare back and spine. He sighed.

Quietly Remus got out of bed. He knew that sleep was all but impossible now; the ache in his chest—heartburn possibly—had woken him up enough that he couldn’t return to sleep even if he tried. Instead he left the room quietly and headed down to the kitchen. He passed by Sirius’ room and noted the candlelight flickering under the door. Some hot chocolate wouldn’t be remiss, he decided, as he took the stairs two at a time.

Without Molly in the house any longer Remus could finally putter around in the kitchen to his heart’s content. He quickly whipped up some hot chocolate the old fashioned way—without magic—and poured it into two mugs. Carefully he picked up both and headed back up the stairs. Remus came to a stop outside of Sirius’ room and lightly dropped his head against the door.

“You awake?” he asked quietly, not that he needed to whisper in this lonesome house. Barely anyone stayed here late at night as it is.

Beyond the door Sirius shuffled about, and then lightly cracked it open. Remus could see the sleep deprived bags in his friends face and offered up the mug of hot chocolate with a wry smile. Sirius took the mug and opened the door the rest of the way, a silent invitation for Remus to enter the room. They both settled on the large, extravagant bed and sipped their hot chocolate in silence.

“Insomnia?” Remus questioned after they had a moment to enjoy their drink.

“Yeah,” Sirius replied hoarsely. He stared into the mug almost lifelessly for a moment, and then looked up to Remus confused. “Why are you up?”

“Dunno,” Remus shrugged. “Heartburn?” He rubbed at his chest.

“SOULburn?” Sirius countered lightly, storm-like grey eyes instantly latched onto his friend’s bare, scarred, chest.

Remus frowned. “Possibly,” he murmured softly. He hadn’t thought of that. It’d been years since he felt the twisted _burn_ in his being like that. The ache in his chest did remind him of the SOULburn he felt occasionally while at Hogwarts. He turned back toward Sirius. “You?”

“Nightmares,” Sirius said shortly. That simple word said more than enough. Remus hummed noncommittally in response. For a moment they lapsed into silence again, then, “You know something about Harry.”

“I do,” Remus agreed.

“He’s…different,” Sirius sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

“He’s not an infant anymore,” Remus pointed out. “Or thirteen.”

Sirius shook his head and sipped his hot chocolate. “It’s more than that, Moony, and you know it.” He shot Remus a look, and Remus sighed. “I didn’t notice it at first, but after the Dementors—and the tournament—he’s…something’s different.”

“Before that, even,” Remus said quietly, and Sirius stilled.

“What do you know?” he turned toward Remus fully, eyes manic. “Remus what do you know?”

Remus stared into his mug of hot chocolate and pondered how to explain to Sirius the amalgamation that was Harry’s SOUL. While he knew Sirius wouldn’t have a problem with such a thing—the man was a Black through and through despite his vows to the contrary, and Black’s held a strong enough tie to Monster’s that they kept fairly quiet—the entire situation itself begged questions.

“I…don’t know when it happened,” Remus said eventually, “or even _how_ , but….” He huffed out a breath and set his mug down on the bedside table, gently pried Sirius’ out of his hands before he spilled hot chocolate everywhere and set it down as well. “Sirius you know how some people are more Monster?”

“I’m not some ignorant hick, Remus,” Sirius pointed out sharply with a frown. “But Harry wasn’t…he wasn’t born like that.”

Remus sighed. “No, he wasn’t.”

A moment, and then weakly, “It’s not a synthesis?”

“It’s not,” Remus agreed quietly.

“ _How?_ ” Sirius glanced up to Remus, eyes pleading—begging.

“It begs the question, doesn’t it?” Remus breathed.

They lapsed into silence. Remus could practically feel the burning questions building within Sirius, but neither spoke. They sat stiff with the tension between them; Sirius long suspected what Remus already knew, but the confirmation still threw him for a loop. He swallowed heavily while Remus closed his eyes. Neither noticed the door shift open, and then gently shut behind Tonks.

Tonks walked up to the bed and climbed on behind the two boys. She wrapped her arms around Sirius in a hug and buried her face in his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be okay, Siri,” she said. “He’s still your godson. He’s still Harry; there’s just some extra there too he’s gotta sort out.”

Sirius sucked in a ragged sort of breath. He whispered, quiet enough that even Remus strained to hear, “You know who it is, don’t you?”

Tonks tightened her grip. The air grew heavier. No one said anything until Tonks pulled away. She moved to sit between Sirius and Remus, and looked to her cousin. She took in his face, in the way he looked more haggard and almost manic—feral with a need for confirmation or denial.

Measuredly she replied, “Yeah. We do.”

Sirius didn’t press further. He didn’t want to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured you all deserve this since it's been a while. I'm trying to get myself to pull ahead with the chapters in this story to give myself something of a buffer, so updates might be slow while I prepare everything. Once I have a few chapters--enough to satisfy myself--this story will be on a bi-monthly update schedule.
> 
> I am starting work on Monday, so it might take me some time. Granted writing is a reprieve for me, and I did some of my best work when I started my last job. Since my new job's hours are hella early in the morning, you might find I'll finish up the buffer sooner rather than later. We'll see.

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta a question or something? Maybe an idea? [Check out my tumblr.](http://xadoheandterra.tumblr.com)
> 
> [](https://ko-fi.com/A8841WGS)


End file.
